THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 

Mrs.  Horace  W.  ilagoun 

in^iogmory  of 
Dr.  5.B.  Jackson 


EFFECTS  OF  THE  EMOTION  OF  PLEASURE  ON  THE  EXPRESSION 

OF  THE  FACE. 

The  three  faces  on  the  right  show  the  same  face  in  repose,  with  a  natural 
smile,  and  a  smile  caused  by  electrically  stimulating  the  muscles 


THE    STORY    OF 
THE    MIND 

BY 

JAMES    MARK    BALDWIN 


WITH      ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW    YORK 
McCLURE,    PHILLIPS    tf   CO. 

MCMIV 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  1902, 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY. 


PREFACE. 


IN  this  little  book  I  have  endeavoured  to 
maintain  the  simplicity  which  is  the  ideal  of 
this  series.  It  is  more  difficult,  however,  to  be 
simple  in  a  topic  which,  even  in  its  illustrations, 
demands  of  the  reader  more  or  less  facility  in  the 
exploration  of  his  own  mind.  I  am  persuaded 
that  the  attempt  to  make  the  matter  of  psychology 
more  elementary  than  is  here  done,  would  only 
result  in  making  it  untrue  and  so  in  defeating  its 
own  object. 

In  preparing  the  book  I  have  secured  the  right 
and  welcomed  the  opportunity  to  include  certain 
more  popular  passages  from  earlier  books  and  ar- 
ticles. It  is  necessary  to  say  this,  for  some  peo- 
ple are  loath  to  see  a  man  repeat  himself.  When 
one  has  once  said  a  thing,  however,  about  as  well 
as  he  can  say  it,  there  is  no  good  reason  that  he 
should  be  forced  into  the  pretence  of  saying 
something  different  simply  to  avoid  using  the 
same  form  of  words  a  second  time.  The  question, 
of  course,  is  as  to  whether  he  should  not  then  re- 
sign himself  to  keeping  still,  and  letting  others  do 
the  further  speaking.  There  is  much  to  be  said 
for  such  a  course.  But  if  one  have  the  right  to 
print  more  severe  and  difficult  things,  and  think 
he  really  has  something  to  say  which  would  in- 
struct the  larger  audience,  it  would  seem  only  fair 


VI  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

to  allow  him  to  speak  in  the  simpler  way  also,  even 
though  all  that  he  says  may  not  have  the  merit  of 
escaping  the  charge  of  infringing  his  own  copy- 
rights! 

I  am  indebted  to  the  proprietors  of  the  follow- 
ing magazines  for  the  use  of  such  passages  :  The 
Popular  Science  Monthly,  The  Century  Maga- 
zine, The  Inland  Educator;  and  with  them  I  also 
wish  to  thank  The  Macmillan  Company  and  the 
owners  of  Appletons' Universal  Cyclopaedia. 

As  to  the  scope  and  contents  of  the  Story,  I 
have  aimed  to  include  enough  statement  of  meth- 
ods and  results  in  each  of  the  great  departments 
of  psychological  research  to  give  the  reader  an 
intelligent  idea  of  what  is  being  done,  and  to  whet 
his  appetite  for  more  detailed  information.  In 
the  choice  of  materials  ^  have  relied  frankly  on 
my  own  experience  and  in  debatable  matters  given 
my  own  opinions.  This  gives  greater  reality  to 
the  several  topics,  besides  making  it  possible,  by 
this  general  statement,  at  once  to  acknowledge  it, 
and  also  to  avoid  discussion  and  citation  of  au- 
thorities in  the  text.  At  the  same  time,  in  the 
exposition  of  general  principles  I  have  endeav- 
oured to  keep  well  within  the  accepted  truth  and 
terminology  of  psychology. 

It  will  be  remarked  that  in  several  passages 
the  evolution  theory  is  adopted  in  its  application 
to  the  mind.  While  this  great  theory  can  not  be 
discussed  in  these  pages,  yet  I  may  say  that,  in 
my  opinion,  the  evidence  in  favour  of  it  is  about 
the  same,  and  about  as  strong,  as  in  biology, 
where  it  is  now  made  a  presupposition  of  scien- 
tific explanation.  So  far  from  being  unwelcome, 
I  find  it  in  psychology  no  less  than  in  biology  a 
great  gain,  both  from  the  point  of  view  of  scien- 


PREFACE.  Vil 

tific  knowledge  and  from  that  of  philosophical 
theory.  Every  great  law  that  is  added  to  our 
store  adds  also  to  our  conviction  that  the  universe 
is  run  through  with  Mind.  Even  so-called  Chance, 
which  used  to  be  the  "  bogie  "  behind  Natural  Se- 
lection, has  now  been  found  to  illustrate — in  the 
law  of  Probabilities — the  absence  of  Chance.  As 
Professor  Pearson  has  said  :  "  We  recognise  that 
our  conception  of  Chance  is  now  utterly  different 
from  that  of  yore.  .  .  .  What  we  are  to  under- 
stand by  a  chance  distribution  is  one  in  accord- 
ance with  law,  and  one  the  nature  of  which  can, 
for  all  practical  purposes,  be  closely  predicted." 
If  the  universe  be  pregnant  with  purpose,  as  we 
all  wish  to  believe,  why  sh&uld  not  this  purpose 
work  itself  out  by  an  evolution  process  under 
law  ? — and  if  under  law,  why  not  the  law  of  Proba 
bilities  ?  We  who  have  our  lives  insured  provide 
for  our  children  through  our  knowledge  and  use 
of  this  law  ;  and  our  plans  for  their  welfare,  in 
most  of  the  affairs  of  life,  are  based  upon  the 
recognition  of  it.  Who  will  deny  to  the  Great 
Purpose  a  similar  resource  in  producing  the  uni- 
verse and  in  providing  for  us  all? 

I  add  in  a  concluding  section  on  Literature 
some  references  to  various  books  in  English, 
classified  under  the  headings  of  the  chapters  of 
the  text.  These  works  will  further  enlighten  the 
reader,  and,  if  he  persevere,  possibly  make  a  psy- 
chologist of  him. 

J.  MARK  BALDWIN. 

PRINCETON,  April,  i8g8. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  SCIENCE  OF  THE  MIND — PSYCHOLOGY      .        i 
II.  WHAT  OUR  MINDS  HAVE  IN  COMMON— INTRO- 
SPECTIVE PSYCHOLOGY     8 

III.  THE    MIND    OF   THE  ANIMAL  —  COMPARATIVE 

PSYCHOLOGY     .        .  • 24 

IV.  THE  MIND  OF  THE  CHILD— CHILD   PSYCHOL- 

OGY  51 

V.  THE  CONNECTION  OF  BODY  WITH  MIND- 
PHYSIOLOGICAL  PSYCHOLOGY — MENTAL  DIS- 
EASES   IO1 

VI.    HOW     WE     EXPERIMENT     ON     THE     MlND — EX- 
PERIMENTAL PSYCHOLOGY        .         .         .         .122 
VII.  SUGGESTION  AND  HYPNOTISM     .        .        .        .148 
VIII.  THE  TRAINING  OF  THE  MIND — EDUCATIONAL 

PSYCHOLOGY lf)6 

IX.  THE  INDIVIDUAL  MIND  AND  SOCIETY — SOCIAL 

PSYCHOLOGY 20° 

X.  THE  GENIUS  AND  HIS  ENVIRONMENT        .        .211 

XI.  LITERATURE 233 

ix 


LIST   OF   DIAGRAMS. 


FIGURE  PAGE 

Effects  of  the  emotion  of  pleasure  on  the  expression 
of  the  face      .._...        Frontispiece 

1.  Origin  of  instinct  by  organic  selection         •         •         •  35 

2.  Reflex  and  voluntary  circuits 107 

3.  Outer  surface  of  the  left  hemisphere  of  the  brain        .  no 

4.  Inner  surface  of  the  right  hemisphere  of  the  brain      .  in 

5.  The  speech  zone  (after  Collins) 113 

6.  Mouth-key 131 

7.  Apparatus  for  optical  experiment        .        .        .        .  135 

8.  Memory  curves 140 

x 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    SCIENCE    OF    THE    MIND — PSYCHOLOGY. 

PSYCHOLOGY  is  the  science  of  the  mind.  It 
aims  to  find  out  all  about  the  mind — the  whole 
story — just  as  the  other  sciences  aim  to  find  out 
all  about  the  subjects  of  which  they  treat — as- 
tronomy, of  the  stars ;  geology,  of  the  earth ; 
physiology,  of  the  body.  And  when  we  wish  to 
trace  out  the  story  of  the  mind,  as  psychology 
has  done  it,  we  find  that  there  are  certain  general 
truths  with  which  we  should  first  acquaint  our- 
selves; truths  which  the  science  has  been  a  very 
long  time  finding  out,  but  which  we  can  now  re- 
alize without  a  great  deal  of  explanation.  These 
general  truths,  we  may  say,  are  preliminary  to 
the  story  itself;  they  deal  rather  with  the  need 
of  defining,  first  of  all,  the  subject  or  topic  of 
which  the  story  is  to  be  told. 

i.  The  first  such  truth  is  that  the  mind  is  not 
the  possession  of  man  alone.  Other  creatures  have 
minds.  Psychology  no  longer  confines  itself,  as  it 
formerly  did,  to  the  human  soul,  denying  to  the 
animals  a  place  in  this  highest  of  all  the  sciences. 
It  finds  itself  unable  to  require  any  test  or  evi- 
dence of  the  presence  of  mind  which  the  animals 
do  not  meet,  nor  does  it  find  any  place  at  which 
the  story  of  the  mind  can  begin  higher  up  than 


2  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

the  very  beginnings  of  life.  For  as  soon  as  we 
ask,  "  How  much  mind  is  necessary  to  start  with  ?  " 
we  have  to  answer,  "  Any  mind  at  all " ;  and  all 
the  animals  are  possessed  of  some  of  the  actions 
which  we  associate  with  mind.  Of  course,  the 
ascertainment  of  the  truth  of  this  belongs — as  the 
ascertainment  of  all  the  truths  of  nature  belongs 
— to  scientific  investigation  itself.  It  is  the  scien- 
tific man's  rule  not  to  assume  anything  except  as 
he  finds  facts  to  support  the  assumption.  So  we 
find  a  great  department  of  psychology  devoted  to 
just  this  question — i.  e.,  of  tracing  mind  in  the 
animals  and  in  the  child,  and  noting  the  stages  of 
what  is  called  its  "evolution"  in  the  ascending 
scale  of  animal  life,  and  its  "  development  "  in  the 
rapid  growth  which  every  child  goes  through  in 
the  nursery.  This  gives  us  two  chapters  of  the 
story  of  the  mind.  Together  they  are  called 
"  Genetic  Psychology,"  having  two  divisions,  "  Ani- 
mal or  Comparative  Psychology "  and  "  Child 
Psychology." 

2.  Another  general  truth  to  note  at  the  outset 
is  this :  that  we  are  able  to  get  real  knowledge 
about  the  mind.  This  may  seem  at  first  sight  a 
useless  question  to  raise,  seeing  that  our  minds 
are,  in  the  thought  of  many,  about  the  only  things 
we  are  really  sure  of.  But  that  sort  of  sureness 
is  not  what  science  seeks.  Every  science  requires 
some  means  of  investigation,  some  method  of 
procedure,  which  is  more  exact  than  the  mere 
say-so  of  common  sense;  and  which  can  be  used 
over  and  again  by  different  investigators  and 
under  different  conditions.  This  gives  a  high  de- 
gree of  verification  and  control  to  the  results  once 
obtained.  The  chemist  has  his  acids,  and  re- 
agents, and  blowpipes,  etc. ;  they  constitute  his  in- 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  THE   MIND— PSYCHOLOGY.      3 

struments,  and  by  using  them,  under  certain  con- 
stant rules,  he  keeps  to  a  consistent  method.  So 
with  the  physiologist ;  he  has  his  microscope,  his 
staining  fluids,  his  means  of  stimulating  the  tis- 
sues of  the  body,  etc.  The  physicist  also  makes 
much  of  his  lenses,  and  membranes,  and  electrical 
batteries,  and  X-ray  apparatus.  In  like  manner 
it  is  necessary  that  the  psychologist  should  have 
a  recognised  way  of  investigating  the  mind,  which 
he  can  lay  before  anybody  saying :  "  There,  you 
see  my  results,  you  can  get  them  for  yourself  by 
the  same  method  that  I  used." 

In  fulfilling  this  requirement  the  psychologist 
resorts  to  two  methods  of  procedure.  He  is 
able  to  investigate  the  mind  in  two  ways,  which 
are  of  such  general  application  that  anybody  of 
sufficient  training  to  make  scientific  observations 
at  all  can  repeat  them  and  so  confirm  the  results. 
One  of  these  is  what  is  called  Introspection.  It 
consists  in  taking  note  of  one's  own  mind,  as  all 
sorts  of  changes  are  produced  in  it,  such  as  emo- 
tions, memories,  associations  of  events  now  gone, 
etc.,  and  describing  everything  that  takes  place. 
Other  persons  can  repeat  the  observations  with 
their  own  minds,  and  see  that  what  the  first  re- 
ports is  true.  This  results  in  a  body  of  knowl- 
edge which  is  put  together  and  called  "  Introspec- 
tive Psychology,"  and  one  chapter  of  the  story 
should  be  devoted  to  that. 

Then  the  other  way  we  have  is  that  of  experi- 
menting on  some  one  else's  mind.  We  can  act  on 
our  friends  and  neighbours  in  various  ways,  mak- 
ing them  feel,  think,  accept,  refuse  this  and  that, 
and  then  observe  how  they  act.  The  differences 
in  their  action  will  show  the  differences  in  the  feel- 
ings, etc.,  which  we  have  produced.  In  pursuing 


4  THE   STORY  OF   THE   MIND. 

this  method  the  psychologist  takes  a  person — 
called  the  "subject"  or  the  "re-agent" — into  his 
laboratory,  asks  him  to  be  willing  to  follow  cer- 
tain directions  carefully,  such  as  holding  an  elec- 
tric handle,  blowing  into  a  tube,  pushing  a  but- 
ton, etc.,  when  he  feels,  sees,  or  hears  certain 
things;  this  done  with  sufficient  care,  the  results 
are  found  recorded  in  certain  ways  which  the 
psychologist  has  arranged  beforehand.  This  sec- 
ond way  of  proceeding  gives  results  which  are 
gathered  under  the  two  headings  "  Experimental  " 
and  "  Physiological  Psychology."  They  should 
also  have  chapters  in  our  story. 

3.  There  is  besides  another  truth  which  the 
psychologist  nowadays  finds  very  fruitful  for  his 
knowledge  of  the  mind  ;  this  is  the  fact  that  minds 
vary  much  in  different  individuals,  or  classes  of 
individuals.  First,  there  is  the  pronounced  differ- 
ence between  healthy  minds  and  diseased  minds. 
The  differences  are  so  great  that  we  have  to  pur- 
sue practically  different  methods  of  treating  the 
diseased,  not  only  as  a  class  apart  from  the 
well  minds — putting  such  diseased  persons  into 
institutions — but  also  as  differing  from  one  an- 
other. Just  as  the  different  forms  of  bodily  dis- 
ease teach  us  a  great  deal  about  the  body — its 
degree  of  strength,  its  forms  of  organization  and 
function,  its  limitations,  its  heredity,  the  inter- 
connection of  its  parts,  etc. — so  mental  diseases 
teach  us  much  about  the  normal  mind.  This  gives 
another  sphere  of  information  which  constitutes 
"  Abnormal  Psychology  "  or  "  Mental  Pathology." 

There  are  also  very  striking  variations  between 
individuals  even  within  normal  life;  well  people 
are  very  different  from  one  another.  All  that  is 
commonly  meant  by  character  or  temperament  as 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  THE   MIND— PSYCHOLOGY.       5 

distinguishing  one  person  from  another  is  evi- 
dence of  these  differences.  But  really  to  know 
all  about  mind  we  should  see  what  its  variations 
are,  and  endeavour  to  find  out  why  the  variations 
exist.  This  gives,  then,  another  topic,  "  Indi- 
vidual or  Variational  Psychology."  This  sub- 
ject should  also  have  notice  in  the  story. 

4.  Allied  with  this  the  demand  is  made  upon 
the  psychologist  that  he  show  to  the  teacher  how 
to  train  the  mind;  how  to  secure  its  development 
in  the  individual   most  healthfully  and   produc- 
tively, and  with  it  all  in  a  way  to  allow  the  varia- 
tions of  endowment  which  individuals  show  each 
to  bear  its  ripest  fruit.     This  is  "  Educational  or 
Pedagogical  Psychology." 

5.  Besides    all   these    great    undertakings    of 
the  psychologist,  there  is  another  department  of 
fact  which  he  must  some  time  find  very  fruitful, 
although  as  yet  he  has  not  been  able  to  investi- 
gate it  thoroughly  :  he  should  ask  about  the  place 
of  the  mind  in  the  world  at  large.     If  we  seek  to 
know  what  the  mind  has  done  in  the  world,  what 
a  wealth  of  story  comes  to  us  from  the  very  be- 
ginnings of  history  !     Mind  has  done  all  that  has 
been  done :  it  has  built  human  institutions,  indited 
literature,  made  science,  discovered  the  laws  of 
Nature,  used  the  forces  of  the  material  world,  em- 
bodied itself  in  all  the  monuments  which  stand  to 
testify  to  the  presence  of  man.     What  could  tell 
us  more  of  what  mind  is  than  this  record  of  what 
mind  has  done  ?     The  ethnologists  are  patiently 
tracing  the  records  left  by  early  man  in  his  uten- 
sils,  weapons,  clothing,  religious  rites,  architec- 
tural remains,  etc.,  and  the  anthropologists  are 
seeking  to  distinguish  the  general  and  essential 
from  the  accidental  and  temporary  in  all  the  his- 


6  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

tory  of  culture  and  civilization.  They  are  mak- 
ing progress  very  slowly,  and  it  is  only  here  and 
there  that  principles  are  being  discovered  which 
reveal  to  the  psychologist  the  necessary  modes 
of  action  and  development  of  the  mind.  All  this 
conies  under  the  head  of  "  Race  Psychology." 

6.  Finally,  another  department,  the  newest  of 
all,  investigates  the  action  of  minds  when  they 
are  thrown  together  in  crowds.  The  animals 
herd,  the  insects  swarm,  most  creatures  live  in 
companies ;  they  are  gregarious,  and  man  no  less 
is  social  in  his  nature.  So  there  is  a  psychology 
of  herds,  crowds,  mobs,  etc.,  all  put  under  the 
heading  of  "Social  Psychology."  It  asks  the 
question,  What  new  phases  of  the  mind  do  we 
find  when  individuals  unite  in  common  action  ? — 
or,  on  the  other  hand,  when  they  are  artificially 
separated  ? 

We  now  have  with  all  this  a  fairly  complete 
idea  of  what  The  Story  of  the  Mind  should  in- 
clude, when  it  is  all  told.  Many  men  are  spend- 
ing their  lives  each  at  one  or  two  of  these  great 
questions.  But  it  is  only  as  the  results  are  all 
brought  together  in  a  consistent  view  of  that  won- 
derful thing,  the  mind,  that  we  may  hope  to  find 
out  all  that  it  is.  We  must  think  of  it  as  a  grow- 
ing, developing  thing,  showing  its  stages  of  evo- 
lution in  the  ascending  animal  scale,  and  also  in 
the  unfolding  of  the  child ;  as  revealing  its  nature 
in  every  change  of  our  daily  lives  which  we  ex- 
perience and  tell  to  one  another  or  find  ourselves 
unable  to  tell;  as  allowing  itself  to  be  discovered 
in  the  laboratory,  and  as  willing  to  leave  the 
marks  of  its  activity  on  the  scientist's  blackened 
drum  and  the  dial  of  the  chronoscope  ;  as  subject 
to  the  limitations  of  health  and  disease,  needing 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   THE   MIND— PSYCHOLOGY.       7 

to  be  handled  with  all  the  resources  of  the  asy- 
lum, the  reformatory,  the  jail,  as  well  as  with  the 
delicacy  needed  to  rear  the  sensitive  girl  or  to 
win  the  love  of  the  bashful  maid ;  as  manifesting 
itself  in  the  development  of  humanity  from  the 
first  rude  contrivances  for  the  use  of  fire,  the  first 
organizations  for  defence,  and  the  first  inscrip- 
tions of  picture  writing,  up  to  the  modern  inven- 
tions in  electricity,  the  complex  constitutions  of 
government,  and  the  classic  productions  of  liter- 
ary art ;  and  as  revealing  its  possibilities  finally  in 
the  brutal  acts  of  the  mob,  the  crimes  of  a  lynch- 
ing party,  and  the  deeds  of  collective  righteous- 
ness performed  by  our  humane  and  religious  so- 
cieties. 

It  would  be  impossible,  of  course,  within  the 
limits  of  this  little  volume,  to  give  even  the  main 
results  in  so  many  great  chapters  of  this  ambitious 
and  growing  science.  I  shall  not  attempt  that ; 
but  the  rather  select  from  the  various  departments 
certain  outstanding  results  and  principles.  From 
these  as  elevations  the  reader  may  see  the  moun- 
tains on  the  horizon,  so  to  speak,  which  at  his 
leisure,  and  with  better  guides,  he  may  explore. 
The  choice  of  materials  from  so  rich  a  store  has 
depended  also,  as  the  preface  states,  on  the  writ- 
er's individual  judgment,  and  it  is  quite  probable 
that  no  one  will  find  the  matters  altogether  wisely 
chosen.  All  the  great  departments  now  thus 
briefly  described,  however,  are  represented  in  the 
following  chapters. 


THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHAT    OUR    MINDS    HAVE    IN    COMMON — INTRO- 
SPECTIVE   PSYCHOLOGY. 

OF  all  the  sources  now  indicated  from  which 
the  psychologist  may  draw,  that  of  so-called  In- 
trospective Psychology — the  actual  reports  of 
what  we  find  going  on  in  our  minds  from  time  to 
time — is  the  most  important.  This  is  true  for  two 
great  reasons,  which  make  Psychology  different 
from  all  the  other  sciences.  The  first  claim  which 
the  introspective  method  has  upon  us  arises  from 
the  fact  that  it  is  only  by  it  that  we  can  examine 
the  mind  directly,  and  get  its  events  in  their 
purity.  Each  of  us  knows  himself  better  than  he 
knows  any  one  else.  So  this  department,  in  which 
we  deal  each  with  his  own  consciousness  at  first 
hand,  is  more  reliable,  if  free  from  error,  than  any 
of  those  spheres  in  which  we  examine  other  per- 
sons, so  long  as  we  are  dealing  with  the.  psychol- 
ogy of  the  individual.  The  second  reason  that 
this  method  of  procedure  is  most  important  is 
found  in  the  fact  that  all  the  other  departments 
of  psychology — and  with  them  all  the  other  sci- 
ences— have  to  use  introspection,  after  all,  to 
make  sure  of  the  results  which  they  get  by  other 
methods.  For  example,  the  natural  scientist,  the 
botanist,  let  us  say,  and  the  physical  scientist, 
the  electrician,  say,  can  not  observe  the  plants  or 
the  electric  sparks  without  really  using  his  intro- 
spection upon  what  is  before  him.  The  light  from 
the  plant  has  to  go  into  his  brain  and  leave  a  cer- 
tain effect  in  his  mind,  and  then  he  has  to  use  in- 
trospection to  report  what  he  sees.  The  astrono- 


WHAT   OUR   MINDS   HAVE   IN   COMMON.  9 

mer  who  has  bad  eyes  can  not  observe  the  stars 
well  or  discover  the  facts  about  them,  because 
his  introspection  in  reporting  what  he  sees  pro- 
ceeds on  the  imperfect  and  distorted  images  com- 
ing in  from  his  defective  .eyesight.  So  a  man 
given  to  exaggeration,  who  is  not  able  to  report 
truthfully  what  he  remembers,  can  not  be  a  good 
botanist,  since  this  defect  in  introspection  will 
render  his  observation  of  the  plants  unreliable. 

In  practice  the  introspective  method  has  been 
most  important,  and  the  development  of  psychol- 
ogy has  been  up-to  very  recently  mainly  due  to 
its  use.  As  a  consequence,  there  are  many  gen- 
eral principles  of  mental  action  and  many  laws  of 
mental  growth  already  discovered  which  should 
in  the  first  instance  engage  our  attention.  They 
constitute  the  main  framework  of  the  building; 
and  we  should  master  them  well  before  we  go  on 
to  find  the  various  applications  which  they  have 
in  the  other  departments  of  the  subject. 

The  greater  results  of  "Introspective"  or,  as 
it  is  very  often  called,  "  General "  psychology 
may  be  summed  up  in  a  few  leading  principles, 
which  sound  more  or  less  abstract  and  difficult, 
but  which  will  have  many  concrete  illustrations  in 
the  subsequent  chapters.  The  facts  of  experience, 
the  actual  events  which  we  find  taking  place  in 
our  minds,  fall  naturally  into  certain  great  divi- 
sions. These  are  very  easily  distinguished  from 
one  another.  The  first  distinction  is  covered 
by  the  popularly  recognised  difference  between 
"thought  and  conduct,"  or  "knowledge  and  life." 
On  the  one  hand,  the  mind  is  looked  at  as  receiv- 
ing, taking  in,  learning  ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  as 
acting,  willing,  doing  this  or  that.  Another  great 
distinction  contrasts  a  third  mental  condition, 


10  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

"  feeling,"  with  both  of  the  other  two.  We  say  a 
man  has  knowledge,  but  little  feeling,  head  but 
no  heart ;  or  that  he  knows  and  feels  the  right 
but  does  not  live  up  to  it. 

I.  On  the  side  of  Reception  we  may  first  point 
out  the  avenues  through  which  our  experiences 
come  to  us:  these  are  the  senses — a  great  num- 
ber, not  simply  the  five  special  senses  of  which 
we  were  taught  in  our  childhood.  Besides  Sight, 
Hearing,  Taste,  Smell,  and  Touch,  we  now  know  of 
certain  others  very  definitely.  There  are  Muscle 
sensations  coming  from  the  moving  of  our  limbs, 
Organic  sensations  from  the  inner  vital  organs, 
Heat  and  Cold  sensations  which  are  no  doubt  dis- 
tinct from  each  other,  Pain  sensations  probably 
having  their  own  physical  apparatus,  sensations 
from  the  Joints,  sensations  of  Pressure,  of  Equili- 
brium of  the  body,  and  a  host  of  peculiar  sensa- 
tional conditions  which,  for  all  we  know,  may  be 
separate  and  distinct,  or  may  arise  from  combi- 
nations of  some  of  the  others.  Such,  for  exam- 
ple, are  the  sensations  which  are  felt  when  a  cur- 
rent of  electricity  is  sent  through  the  arm. 

All  these  give  the  mind  its  material  to  work 
upon ;  and  it  gets  no  material  in  the  first  in- 
stance from  any  other  source.  All  the  things  we 
know,  all  our  opinions,  knowledges,  beliefs,  are 
absolutely  dependent  at  the  start  upon  this  sup- 
ply of  material  from  our  senses;  although,  as  we 
shall  see,  the  mind  gets  a  long  way  from  its  first 
subjection  to  this  avalanche  of  sensations  which 
come  constantly  pouring  in  upon  it  from  the  ex- 
ternal world.  Yet  this  is  the  essential  and  capital 
function  of  Sensation :  to  supply  the  material  on 
which  the  mind  does  the  work  in  its  subsequent 
thought  and  action. 


WHAT  OUR   MINDS   HAVE   IN   COMMON.  n 

Next  comes  the  process  by  which  the  mind 
holds  its  material  for  future  use,  the  process  of 
Memory ;  and  with  it  the  process  by  which  it  com- 
bines its  material  together  in  various  useful  forms, 
making  up  things  and  persons  out  of  the  material 
which  has  been  received  and  remembered — called 
Association  of  Ideas,  Thinking,  Reasoning,  etc.  All 
these  processes  used  to  be  considered  as  separate 
"  faculties  "  of  the  soul  and  as  showing  the  mind 
doing  different  things.  But  that  view  is  now  com- 
pletely given  up.  Psychology  now  treats  the  ac- 
tivity of  the  mind  in  a  much  more  simple  way.  It 
says:  Mind  does  only  one  thing;  in  all  these  so- 
called  faculties  we  have  the  mind  doing  this  one 
thing  only  on  the  different  materials  which  come 
and  go  in  it.  This  one  thing  is  the  combining,  or 
holding  together,  of  the  elements  which  first  come 
to  it  as  sensations,  so  that  it  can  act  on  a  group 
of  them  as  if  they  were  only  one  and  represented 
only  one  external  thing.  Let  me  illustrate  this 
single  and  peculiar  sort  of  process  as  it  goes  on  in 
the  mind. 

We  may  ask  how  the  child  apprehends  an 
orange  out  there  on  the  table  before  him.  It 
can  not  be  said  that  the  orange  goes  into  the 
child's  mind  by  any  one  of  its  senses.  By  sight 
he  gets  only  the  colour  and  shape  of  the  orange, 
by  smell  he  gets  only  its  odour,  by  taste  its  sweet- 
ness, and  by  touch  its  smoothness,  rotundity,  etc. 
Furthermore,  by  none  of  these  senses  does  he 
find  out  the  individuality  of  the  orange,  or  dis- 
tinguish it  from  other  things  which  involve  the 
same  or  similar  sensations — say  an  apple.  It  is 
easy  to  see  that  after  each  of  the  senses  has  sent 
in  its  report  something  more  is  necessary :  the 
combining  of  them  all  together  in  the  same  place 


I2  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

and  at  the  same  time,  the  bringing  up  of  an  ap- 
propriate name,  and  with  that  a  sort  of  relating 
or  distinguishing  of  this  group  of  sensations  from 
those  of  the  apple.  Only  then  can  we  say  that 
the  knowledge,  "  here  is  an  orange,"  has  been 
reached.  Now  this  is  the  one  typical  way  the  mind 
has  of  acting,  this  combining  of  all  the  items  or 
groups  of  items  into  ever  larger  and  more  fruit- 
ful combinations.  This  is  called  Apperception. 
The  mind,  we  say,  "apperceives "  the  orange 
when  it  is  able  to  treat  all  the  separate  sensations 
together  as  standing  for  one  thing.  And  the  va- 
rious circumstances  under  which  the  mind  does 
this  give  the  occasions  for  the  different  names 
which  the  earlier  psychology  used  for  marking 
off  different  "faculties." 

These  names  are  still  convenient,  however, 
and  it  may  serve  to  make  the  subject  clear,  as 
well  as  to  inform  the  reader  of  the  meaning  of 
these  terms,  to  show  how  they  all  refer  to  this 
one  kind  of  mental  action. 

The  case  of  the  orange  illustrates  what  is  usu- 
ally called  Perception.  It  is  the  case  in  which  the 
result  is  the  knowledge  of  an  actual  object  in  the 
outside  world.  When  the  same  process  goes  on 
after  the  actual  object  has  been  removed  it  is 
Memory.  When  it  goes  on  again  in  a  way  which 
is  not  controlled  by  reference  to  such  an  outside 
object — usually  it  is  a  little  fantastic,  as  in  dreams 
or  fancy,  but  often  it  is  useful  as  being  so  well 
done  as  to  anticipate  what  is  really  true  in  the 
outside  world — then  it  is  Imagination.  If  it  is 
actually  untrue,  but  still  believed  in,  we  call  it  Il- 
lusion or  Hallucination.  When  it  uses  mere  sym- 
bols, such  as  words,  gestures,  writing,  etc.,  to 
stand  for  whole  groups  of  things,  it  is  Thinking 


WHAT   OUR   MINDS   HAVE   IN   COMMON.  13 

or  Reasoning.  So  we  may  say  that  what  the  mind 
arrives  at  through  this  its  one  great  way  of  act- 
ing, no  matter  which  of  these  forms  it  takes  on, 
except  in  the  cases  in  which  it  is  not  true  in  its 
results  to  the  realities,  is  Knowledge. 

Thus  we  see  that  the  terms  and  faculties  ot 
the  older  psychology  can  be  arranged  under  this 
doctrine  of  Apperception  without  the  necessity  of 
thinking  of  the  mind  as  doing  more  than  the  one 
thing.  It  simply  groups  and  combines  its  mate- 
rial in  different  ways  and  in  ever  higher  degrees 
of  complexity. 

Apperception,  then,  is  the  one  principle  of 
mental  activity  on  the  side  of  its  reception  and 
treatment  of  the  materials  of  experience. 

There  is  another  term  very  current  in  psychol- 
ogy by  which  this  same  process  is  sometimes  in- 
dicated :  the  phrase  Association  of  Ideas.  This 
designates  the  fact  that  when  two  things  have 
been  perceived  or  thought  of  together,  they  tend 
to  come  up  together  in  the  mind  in  the  future; 
and  when  a  thing  has  been  perceived  which  re- 
sembles another,  or  is  contrasted  with  it,  they 
tend  to  recall  each  other  in  the  same  way.  It  is 
plain,  however,  that  this  phrase  is  applied  to  the 
single  thoughts,  sensations,  or  other  mental  ma- 
terials, in  their  relations  or  connections  among 
themselves.  They  are  said  to  be  "  associated  " 
with  one  another.  This  way  of  speaking  of  the 
mental  materials,  instead  of  speaking  of  the 
mind's  activity,  is  convenient ;  and  it  is  quite 
right  to  do  so,  since  it  is  no  contradiction  to 
say  that  the  thoughts,  etc.,  which  the  mind  "  ap- 
perceives  "  remain  "  associated  "  together.  From 
this  explanation  it  is  evident  that  the  Association 
of  Ideas  also  comes  under  the  mental  process 


14  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

of  Apperception  of  which  we  have  been  speak- 
ing. 

There  is,  however,  another  tendency  of  the 
mind  in  the  treatment  of  its  material,  a  tendency 
which  shows  us  in  actual  operation  the  activity 
with  which  we  have  now  become  familiar.  When 
we  come  to  look  at  any  particular  case  of  apper- 
ception or  association  we  find  that  the  process 
must  go  on  from  the  platform  which  the  mind's 
attainments  have  already  reached.  The  passing 
of  the  mental  states  has  been  likened  to  a 
stream  which  flows  on  from  moment  to  moment 
with  no  breaks.  It  is  so  continuous  that  we  can 
never  say :  "  I  will  start  afresh,  forget  the  past, 
and  be  uninfluenced  by  my  history."  However 
we  may  wish  this,  we  can  never  do  it ;  for  the 
oncoming  current  of  the  stream  is  just  what  we 
speak  of  as  ourselves,  and  we  can  not  avoid 
bringing  the  memories,  imaginations,  expecta- 
tions, disappointments,  etc.,  up  to  the  present. 
So  the  effect  which  any  new  event  or  experience, 
happening  for  the  first  time,  is  to  have  upon  us 
depends  upon  the  way  it  fits  into  the  current  of 
these  onflowing  influences.  The  man  I  see  for 
the  first  time  may  be  so  neutral  to  me  that  I  pass 
him  unregarded.  But  let  him  return  after  I  have 
once  remarked  him,  or  let  him  resemble  a  man 
whom  I  know,  or  let  him  give  me  some  reason  to 
observe,  fear,  revere,  think  of  him  in  any  way, 
then  he  is  a  positive  factor  in  my  stream.  He 
has  been  taken  up  into  the  flow  of  my  mental  life, 
and  he  henceforth  contributes  something  to  it. 

For  example,  a  little  child,  after  learning  to 
draw  a  man's  face,  with  two  eyes,  the  nose  and 
mouth,  and  one  ear  on  each  side,  will  afterward, 
when  told  to  draw  a  profile,  still  put  in  two  eyes 


WHAT   OUR   MINDS   HAVE   IN   COMMON.  15 

and  affix  an  ear  to  each  side.  The  drift  of  men- 
tal habit  tells  on  the  new  result  and  he  can  not 
escape  it. 

He  will  still  put  in  the  two  eyes  and  two  ears 
when  he  has  before  him  a  copy  showing  only  one 
ear  and  neither  eye. 

In  all  such  cases  the  new  is  said  to  be  Assimi- 
lated to  the  old.  The  customary  figure  for  man 
in  the  child's  memory  assimilates  the  materials  of 
the  new  copy  set  before  him. 

Now  this  tendency  is  universal.  The  mind 
must  assimilate  its  new  material  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, thus  making  the  old  stand  for  the  new. 
Otherwise  there  would  be  no  containing  the  frag- 
mentary details  which  we  should  have  to  remem- 
ber and  handle.  Furthermore,  it  is  through  this 
tendency  that  we  go  on  to  form  the  great  classes 
of  objects — such  as  man,  animal,  virtue — into 
which  numbers  of  similar  details  are  put,  and 
which  we  call  General  Notions  or  Concepts. 

We  may  understand  by  Assimilation,  there- 
fore, the  general  tendency  of  new  experiences  to 
be  treated  by  us  in  the  ways  which  similar  ma- 
terial has  been  treated  before,  with  the  result 
that  the  mind  proceeds  from  the  particular  case 
to  the  general  class. 

Summing  up  our  outcome  so  far,  we  find  that 
general  psychology  has  reached  three  great  prin- 
ciples in  its  investigation  of  knowledge.  First, 
we  have  the  combining  tendency  of  the  mind,  the 
grouping  together  and  relating  of  mental  states 
and  of  things,  called  Apperception.  _Then,  second, 
there  are  the  partiWna^Telcfffros  established 
among  the  various  states,  etc.,  which  are  com- 
bined ;  these  are  called  Associations  of  Ideas. 
And,  third,  there  is  the  tendency  of  the  mind  to 
3 


1 6  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

use  its  old  experiences  and  habits  as  general  pat- 
terns or  nets  for  the  sorting  out  and  distributing 
of  all  the  new  details  of  daily  life;  this  is  called 
Assimilation. 

II.  Let  us  now  turn  to  the  second  great  aspect 
of  the  mind,  as  general  or  introspective  psychol- 
ogy considers  it,  the  aspect  which  presents  itself 
in  Action  or  conduct.  The  fact  that  we  act  is  of 
course  as  important  as  the  fact  that  we  think  or 
the  fact  that  we  feel ;  and  the  distinction  which 
separates  thought  and  action  should  not  be  made 
too  sharp. 

Yet  there  is  a  distinction.  To  understand 
action  we  must  again  go  to  introspection.  This 
comes  out  as  soon  as  we  ask  how  we  reach  our 
knowledge  of  the  actions  of  others.  Of  course, 
we  say  at  once  that  we  see  them.  And  that  is 
true;  we  do  see  them,  while  as  to  their  thoughts 
we  only  infer  them  from  what  we  see  of  their 
action.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  may  ask : 
How  do  we  come  to  infer  this  or  that  thought 
from  this  or  that  action  of  another?  The  only 
reply  is :  Because  when  we  act  in  the  same  way 
this  is  the  way  we  feel.  So  we  get  back  in  any 
case  to  our  own  consciousness  and  must  ask  how 
is  this  action  related  to  this  thought  in  our  own 
mind. 

To  this  question  psychology  has  now  a  gen- 
eral answer :  Our  action  is  always  the  result  of 
our  thought,  of  the  elements  of  knowledge  which 
are  at  the  time  present  in  the  mind.  Of  course, 
there  are  actions  which  we  do  from  purely  nerv- 
ous reasons.  These  are  the  Instincts,  which  come 
up  again  when  we  consider  the  animals.  But 
these  we  may  neglect  so  long  as  we  are  investi- 
gating actions  which  we  consider  our  own.  Apart 


•  ft 


WHAT   OUR   MINDS  HAVE   IN   COMMON.  17 

from  the  Instincts,  the  principle  holds  that  behind 
every  action  which  our  conduct  shows  there  must 
be  something  thought  of,  some  sensation  or 
knowledge  then  in  mind,  some  feeling  swelling 
within  our  breast,  which  prompts  to  the  action. 

This  general  principle  is  Motor  Suggestion. 
It  simply  means  that  we  are  unable  to  have  any 
thought  or  feeling  whatever,  whether  it  comes 
from  the  senses,  from  memory,  from  the  words, 
conduct,  or  command  of  others,  which  does  not 
have  a  direct  influence  upon  our  conduct.  We 
are  quite  unable  to  avoid  the  influence  of  our  own 
thoughts  upon  our  conduct,  and  often  the  most 
trivial  occurrences  of  our  daily  lives  act  as  sug- 
gestions to  deeds  of  very  great  importance  to  our- 
selves and  others.  For  example,  the  influence  of 
the  newspaper  reports  of  crime  stimulate  other 
individuals  to  perform  the  same  crimes  by  this 
principle  of  suggestion  ;  for  the  fact  is  that  the 
reading  of  the  report  causes  us  to  entertain  the 
thoughts,  and  these  thoughts  tend  to  arouse  in  us 
their  corresponding  trains  of  suggested  action. 

The  most  interesting  and  striking  sphere  of 
operation  of  the  principle  of  Suggestion  (of  other 
sorts  as  well  as  motor)  is  what  is  commonly  known 
simply  as  Hypnotism.  To  that,  as  well  as  to 
further  illustrations  of  Suggestion,  we  will  return 
later  on. 

We  are  able,  however,  to  see  a  little  more  in 
detail  how  the  law  of  Motor  Suggestion  works 
by  asking  what  sort  of  action  is  prompted  in  each 
case  of  thought  or  feeling,  at  the  different  levels 
of  the  mind's  activity  which  have  been  distin- 
guished above  as  all  illustrating  Apperception — 
e.  g.,  the  stages  known  as  Perception,  Imagina- 
tion, Reasoning,  etc. 


1 8  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

We  act,  of  course,  on  our  perceptions  constant- 
ly ;  most  of  our  routine  life  is  made  up  of  such  ac- 
tion on  the  perceptions  of  objects  which  lie  about 
us.  The  positions  of  things  in  the  house,  in  the 
streets,  in  the  office,  in  the  store,  are  so  well 
known  that  we  carry  out  a  series  of  actions  with 
reference  to  these  objects  without  much  super- 
vision from  our  consciousness.  Here  the  law  of 
Motor  Suggestion  works  along  under  the  guidance 
of  Perception,  Memory,  and  the  Association  of 
Ideas.  Then  we  find  also,  in  much  of  our  action, 
an  element  due  to  the  exercise  of  the  Imagination. 
We  fill  in  the  gaps  in  the  world  of  perception  by 
imagining  appropriate  connections ;  and  we  then 
act  as  if  we  knew  that  these  imaginations  were 
realities.  This  is  especially  true  in  our  inter- 
course with  our  fellow-men.  We  never  really 
know  what  they  will  do  from  time  to  time.  Their 
action  is  still  future  and  uncertain ;  but  from 
our  familiarity  with  their  character,  we  surmise  or 
imagine  what  they  expect  or  think,  and  we  then 
act  so  as  to  make  our  conduct  fit  into  theirs. 
Here  is  suggestion  of  a  personal  kind  which  de- 
pends upon  our  ability,  in  a  sense,  to  reconstruct 
the  character  of  others,  leading  us  out  into  appro- 
priate action.  This  is  the  sphere  of  the  most  im- 
portant affairs  of  our  lives.  It  appears  especially 
so  when  we  consider  its  connection  with  the  next 
great  sort  of  action  from  suggestion. 

This  next  and  highest  sphere  is  action  from 
the  general  or  abstract  thoughts  which  we  have 
been  able  to  work  up  by  the  apperceiving  activity 
of  the  mind.  In  this  sphere  we  have  a  special 
name  for  those  thoughts  which  influence  us  directly 
and  lead  us  to  action  :  we  call  such  thoughts 
Motives.  We  also  have  a  special  name  for  the 


WHAT   OUR   MINDS   HAVE   IN   COMMON.          19 

sort  of  action  which  is  prompted  by  clearly- 
thought-out  motives:  Will.  But  in  spite  of  this 
emphasis  given  to  certain  actions  of  ours  as  spring- 
ing from  what  is  called  Will,  we  must  be  careful 
to  see  that  Will  is  not  a  new  faculty,  or  capacity, 
added  to  mind,  and  which  is  different  from  the 
ways  of  action  which  the  mind  had  before  the 
Will  arose.  Will  is  only  a  name  for  the  action 
upon  suggestions  of  conduct  which  are  so  clear  in 
our  minds  that  we  are  able  to  deliberate  upon 
them,  acting  only  after  some  reflection,  and  so 
having  a  sense  that  the  action  springs  from  our 
own  choice.  The  real  reasons  for  action,  how- 
ever, are  thoughts,  in  this  case,  just  as  in  the 
earlier  cases  they  were.  In  this  case  we  call  them 
Motives;  but  we  are  dependent  upon  these  Mo- 
tives, these  Suggestions;  we  can  not  act  without 
Motives,  nor  can  we  fail  to  act  on  those  Motives 
which  we  have;  just  as,  in  the  earlier  cases,  we 
could  not  act  without  some  sort  of  Perceptions 
or  Imaginations  or  Memories,  and  we  could  not 
fail  to  act  on  the  Perceptions  or  other  mental 
states  which  we  had.  Voluntary  action  or  Will  is 
therefore  only  a  complex  and  very  highly  con- 
scious case  of  the  general  law  of  Motor  Sugges- 
tion ;  it  is  the  form  which  suggested  action  takes 
on  when  Apperception  is  at  its  highest  level. 

The  converse  of  Suggestion  is  also  true — that 
we  can  not  perform  an  action  without  having  in 
the  mind  at  the  time  the  appropriate  thought,  or 
image,  or  memory  to  suggest  the  action.  This 
dependence  of  action  upon  the  thought  which  the 
mind  has  at  the  time  is  conclusively  shown  in 
certain  patients  having  partial  paralysis.  These 
patients  find  that  when  the  eyes  are  bandaged 
they  can  not  use  their  limbs,  and  it  is  simply  be- 


20  THE   STORY   OF  THE  MIND. 

cause  they  can  not  realize  without  seeing  the  limb 
how  it  would  feel  to  move  it;  but  open  the  eyes 
and  let  them  see  the  limb — then  they  move  it 
freely.  A  patient  can  not  speak  when  the  cor- 
tex of  the  brain  is  injured  in  the  particular  spot 
which  is  used  in  remembering  how  the  words  feel 
or  sound  when  articulated.  Many  such  cases  lead 
to  the  general  position  that  for  each  of  our  inten- 
tional actions  we  must  have  some  way  of  thinking 
about  the  action,  of  remembering  how  it  feels, 
looks,  etc. ;  we  must  have  something  in  mind 
equivalent  to  the  experience  of  the  movement. 
This  is  called  the  principle  of  Kinaesthetic  Equiv- 
alents, an  expression  which  loses  its  formidable 
sound  when  we  remember  that  "  kinaesthetic " 
means  having  the  feeling  of  movement;  so  the 
principle  expresses  the  truth  that  we  must  in 
every  case  have  some  thought  or  mental  picture 
in  mind  which  is  equivalent  to  the  feeling  of  the 
movement  we  desire  to  make;  if  not,  we  can  not 
succeed  in  making  it. 

What  we  mean  by  the  "freedom"  of  the  will 
is  not  ability  to  do  anything  without  thinking, 
but  ability  to  think  all  the  alternatives  together 
and  to  act  on  this  larger  thought.  Free  action 
is  the  fullest  expression  of  thought  and  of  the 
Self  which  thinks  it. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  the  child  getting 
his  Equivalents  day  by  day.  He  can  not  perform 
a  new  movement  simply  by  wishing  to  do  so;  he 
has  no  Equivalents  in  his  mind  to  proceed  upon. 
But  as  he  learns  the  action,  gradually  striking 
the  proper  movements  one  by  one — oftenest  by 
imitation,  as  we  will  see  later  on — he  stores  the 
necessary  Equivalents  up  in  his  memory,  and  after- 
ward only  needs  to  think  how  the  movements 


WHAT   OUR   MINDS   HAVE   IN   COMMON.  21 

feel  or  look,  or  how  words  sound,  to  be  able  to 
make  the  movements  or  speak  the  words  forth- 
with. 

III.  Introspection  finds  another  great  class  of 
conditions  in  experience,  again  on  the  receptive 
side — conditions  which  convert  the  mind  from  the 
mere  theatre  of  indifferent  changes  into  the  vital- 
ly interested,  warmly  intimate  thing  which  our 
mental  life  is  to  each  of  us.  This  is  the  sphere 
of  Feeling.  We  may  see  without  more  ado  that 
while  we  are  receiving  sensations  and  thoughts 
and  suggestions,  and  acting  upon  them  in  the  va- 
riety of  ways  already  pointed  out,  we  ourselves 
are  not  indifferent  spectators  of  this  play,  this 
come-and-go  of  processes.  We  are  directly  impli- 
cated ;  indeed,  the  very  sense  of  a  self,  an  ego,  a 
me-ai;d-mine,  in  each  consciousness,  arises  from 
the  fact  that  all  this  come-and-go  is  a  personal 
growth.  The  mind  is  not  a  mere  machine  doing 
what  the  laws  of  its  action  prescribe.  We  find 
thai;  nothing  happens  which  does  not  affect  the 
mind  itself  for  better  or  for  worse,  for  richer  or 
for  poorer,  for  pleasure  or  for  pain;  and  there 
spring  up  a  series  of  attitudes  of  the  mind  itself, 
according  as  it  is  experiencing  or  expecting  to 
experience  what  to  it  is  good  or  bad.  This  is, 
then,  the  great  meaning  of  Feeling:  it  is  the  sense 
in  the  mind  that  it  is  itself  in  some  way  influ- 
enced for  good  or  for  ill  by  what  goes  on  within 
it.  It  stands  midway  between  thought  and  ac- 
tion. We  feel  with  reference  to  what  we  think, 
and  we  act  because  we  feel.  All  action  is  guided 
by  feeling. 

Feelingshowstwo  well-marked  characters:  first, 
the  Excitement  of  taking  a  positive  attitude  ;  and, 
second,  the  Pleasure  or  Pain  that  goes  with  it. 


22  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

Here,  again,  it  may  suffice  to  distinguish  the 
stages  which  arise  as  we  go  from  the  higher  to  the 
lower,  from  the  life  of  Sensation  and  Perception 
up  to  that  of  Thought.  This  was  our  method  in 
both  of  the  other  phases  of  the  mental  life — 
Knowledge  and  Action.  Doing  this,  therefore,  in 
the  case  of  Feeling  also,  we  find  different  terms 
applied  to  the  different  phases  of  feeling.  In 
the  lowest  sort  of  mental  life,  as  we  may  sup- 
pose the  helpless  newborn  child  to  have  it,  and 
as  we  also  think  it  exists  in  certain  low  forms 
of  animal  life,  feeling  is  not  much  more  than 
Pleasures  and  Pains  depending  largely  upon  the 
physical  conditions  under  which  life  proceeds. 
It  is  likely  that  there  are  both  Pleasures  and 
Pains  which  are  actually  sensations  with  special 
nerve  apparatus  of  their  own ;  and  there  are  also 
states  of  the  Comfortable  and  the  Uncomfortable, 
or  of  pleasant  and  unpleasant  feeling,  due  to  the 
way  the  mind  is  immediately  affected.  These  are 
conditions  of. Excitement  added  to  the  Sensations 
of  Pleasure  and  Pain. 

Coming  up  to  the  life  of  Memory  and  Imagina- 
tion, we  find  many  great  classes  of  Emotions  tes- 
tifying to  the  attitudes  which  the  mind  takes 
toward  its  experiences.  They  are  remarkably 
rich  and  varied,  these  emotions.  Hope  gives 
place  to  its  opposite  despair,  joy  to  sorrow,  and 
regret  succeeds  expectation.  No  one  can  enumer- 
ate the  actual  phases  of  the  emotional  life.  The 
differences  which  are  most  pronounced — as  be- 
tween hope  and  fear,  joy  and  sorrow,  anger  and 
love — have  special  names,  and  their  stimulating 
causes  are  so  constant  that  they  have  also  cer- 
tain fixed  ways  of  showing  themselves  in  the 
body,  the  so-called  emotional  Expressions.  It  is 


WHAT   OUR   MINDS   HAVE   IN   COMMON.  23 

by  these  that  we  see  and  sympathize  with  the 
emotional  states  of  other  persons.  The  most  that 
we  have  room  here  to  say  is  that  there  is  a  con- 
stant ebb  and  flow,  and  that  we  rarely  attain  a 
state  of  relative  freedom  from  the  influence  of 
emotion. 

The  fixed  bodily  Expressions  of  emotion  are 
largely  hereditary  and  common  to  man  and  the 
animals.  It  is  highly  probable'  that  they  first 
arose  as  attitudes  useful  in  the  animal's  environ- 
ments for  defence,  flight,  seizure,  embrace,  etc., 
and  have  descended  to  man  as  survivals,  so  be- 
coming indications  of  states  of  the  mind. 

The  final  and  highest  manifestation  of  the 
life  of  feeling  is  what  we  call  Sentiment.  Senti- 
ment is  aroused  in  response  to  certain  so-called 
ideal  states  of  thought.  The  trend  of  mental 
growth  toward  constantly  greater  adequacy  in  its 
knowledge  leads  it  to  anticipate  conditions  when 
its  attainments  will  be  made  complete.  There 
are  certain  sorts  of  reality  whose  completeness, 
thus  imagined,  arouses  in  us  emotional  states  of 
the  greatest  power  and  value.  The  thought  of 
God  gives  rise  to  the  Religious  sentiment,  that  of 
the  good  to  the  Ethical  or  Moral  sentiment,  that 
of  the  beautiful  to  the  ^Esthetic  sentiment.  These 
sentiments  represent  the  most  refined  and  noble 
fruitage  of  the  life  of  feeling,  as  the  thoughts 
which  they  accompany  refer  to  the  most  elevated 
and  ideal  objects.  And  it  is  equally  true  that  the 
conduct  which  is  performed  under  the  inspiration 
of  Sentiment  is  the  noblest  and  most  useful  in 
which  man  can  engage. 


24  THE   STORY  OF   THE   MIND. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    MIND    OF    THE    ANIMAL — COMPARATIVE 
PSYCHOLOGY. 

IT  has  already  been  pointed  out  that  the  ani- 
mal has  a  very  important  share  of  the  endowment 
which  we  call  mind.  Only  recently  has  he  been 
getting  his  due.  He  was  formerly  looked  upon, 
under  the  teachings  of  a  dualistic  philosophy  and 
of  a  jealous  humanity,  as  a  soulless  machine,  a 
mere  automaton  which  was  moved  by  the  starting 
of  certain  springs  to  run  on  until  the  machine  ran 
down.  There  are  two  reasons  that  this  view  has 
been  given  up,  each  possibly  important  enough  to 
have  accomplished  the  revolution  and  to  have 
given  rise  to  Animal  Psychology. 

First,  there  is  the  rise  of  the  evolution  theory, 
which  teaches  that  there  is  no  absolute  break  be- 
tween man  and  the  higher  animals  in  the  matter 
of  mental  endowment,  and  that  what  difference 
there  is  must  itself  be  the  result  of  the  laws  of 
mental  growth  ;  and  the  second  reason  is  that  the 
more  adequate  the  science  of  the  human  mind 
has  become  the  more  evident  has  it  also  become 
that  man  himself  is  more  of  a  machine  than  had 
been  supposed.  Man  grows  by  certain  laws;  his 
progress  is  conditioned  by  the  environment,  both 
physical  and  social,  in  which  he  lives;  his  mind  is 
a  part  of  the  natural  system  of  things.  So  with 
the  animal.  The  animal  fulfils,  as  far  as  he  can, 
the  same  sort  of  function;  he  has  his  environ- 
ment, both  physical  and  social ;  he  works  under 
the  same  laws  of  grofvth  which  man  also«obeys; 
his  mind  exhibits  substantially  the  same  phenofn- 


THE   MIND   OF   THE  ANIMAL.  25 

ena  which  the  human  mind  exhibits  in  its  early 
stages  in  the  child.  All  this  means  that  the  ani- 
mal has  as  good  right  to  recognition,  as  a  mind- 
bearing  creature,  so  to  speak,  as  the  child  ;  and  if 
we  exclude  him  we  should  also  exclude  the  child. 
Further,  this  also  means — what  is  more  important 
for  the  science  of  psychology — that  the  develop- 
ment of  the  mind  in  its  early  stages  and  in  certain 
of  its  directions  of  progress  is  revealed  most  ade- 
quately in  the  animals. 

Animal  Instinct. — Turning  to  the  animals,  the 
first  thing  to  strike  us  is  the  remarkable  series 
of  so-called  animal  Instincts.  Everybody  knows 
what  animal  instincts  are  like ;  it  is  only  necessary 
to  go  to  a  zoological  garden  to  see  them  in  oper- 
ation on  a  large  scale.  Take  the  house  cat  and 
follow  her  through  the  life  of  a  single  day,  observ- 
ing her  actions.  She  washes  her  face  and  makes 
her  toilet  in  the  morning  by  instinct.  She  has  her 
peculiar  instinctive  ways  of  catching  the  mouse* 
for  breakfast.  She  whets  her  appetite  by  hold- 
ing back  her  meal  possibly  for  an  hour,  in  the 
meantime  playing  most  cruelly  with  the  pitiful 
mouse,  letting  it  run  and  catching  it  again,  and 
doing  this  over  and  over.  If  she  has  children 
she  attends  to  their  training  in  the  details  of  cat 
etiquette  and  custom  with  the  utmost  care,  all  by 
instinct;  and  the  kittens  instinctively  respond  to 
her  attentions.  She  conducts  herself  during  the 
day  with  remarkable  cleanliness  of  life,  making 
arrangements  which  civilized  man  follows  with 
admiration.  She  shows  just  the  right  abhorrence 
of  water  for  a  creature  that  is  not  able  to  swim. 
She  knows  just  what  enemies  to  fly  from  and  when 
to  turn  and  fight,  using  with  inborn  dexterity  her 
formidable  claws.  She  prefers  nocturnal  excur- 


26  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

sions  and  sociabilities,  having  eyes  which  make  it 
safe  to  be  venturesome  in  the  dark.  She  has  cer- 
tain vocal  expressions  of  her  emotions,  which  man 
in  vain  attempts  to  eradicate  with  all  the  agencies 
of  domestication.  She  has  special  arts  to  attract 
her  mate,  and  he  in  turn  is  able  to  charm  her  with 
songs  which  charm  nobody  else.  And  so  on,  al- 
most ad  infinitum. 

Observe  the  dog,  the  birds  of  different  species, 
the  monkeys,  the  hares,  and  you  find  wonderful 
differences  of  habit,  each  adapting  the  animal 
differently,  but  with  equal  effectiveness,  to  the  life 
which  he  in  particular  is  called  upon  to  lead.  The 
ants  and  bees  are  notoriously  expert  in  the  matter 
of  instinct.  They  have  colonies  in  which  some  of 
the  latest  principles  of  social  organization  seem 
to  find  analogues:  slavery,  sexual  regulations, 
division  of  labour,  centralization  of  resources, 
government  distribution  of  food,  capital  punish- 
ment, etc. 

All  this — not  to  stop  upon  details  which  the 
books  on  animal  life  give  in  great  abundance — 
has  furnished  grounds  for  speculation  for  centu- 
ries, and  it  is  only  in  the  last  generation  that  the 
outlines  of  a  theory  of  instinct  have  been  filled  in 
with  substantial  knowledge.  A  rapid  sketch  of 
this  theory  may  be  drawn  in  the  following  pages. 

i.  In  instinct  in  general  there  is  a  basis  of  in- 
herited nervous  tendency  toward  the  performance 
of  just  the  sort  of  action  which  the  instinct  ex- 
hibits. This  nervous  tendency  shows  itself  inde- 
pendently of  learning  by  the  individual  in  a  great 
many  cases,  as  in  the  instinct  of  sucking  by  young 
animals,  pecking  for  food  by  young  fowls,  the  mi- 
grating actions  of  adult  mammals  and  birds,  the 
courting  movements  of  many  varieties  of  animal 


THE   MIND   OF   THE  ANIMAL.  27 

species.  In  all  this  we  have  what  is  called  the 
"perfect"  instinct.  To  be  perfect,  an  instinct 
must  be  carried  out  successfully  by  the  animal 
when  his  organism  is  ready,  without  any  instruc- 
tion, any  model  to  imitate,  any  experience  to  go 
upon.  The  "perfect"  instincts  are  entirely  con- 
genital or  inborn;  the  nervous  apparatus  only 
needs  to  reach  the  proper  stage  of  maturity  or 
growth,  and  forthwith  the  instinctive  action  is 
performed  as  soon  as  the  external  conditions  of 
life  are  such  as  to  make  its  performance  appro- 
priate and  useful. 

2.  On  the  other  hand,  many  instincts — indeed, 
probably  the  greater   number — are   not   perfect, 
but  "  imperfect."      Imperfect  instincts  are  those 
which  do   not   fully  equip  the   animal  with   the 
function  in  question,  but  only  take  him  part  way 
to  the  goal.     He  has  a  spontaneous  tendency  to 
do  certain  things,  such  as  building  a  nest,  singing, 
etc. ;  but  he  is  not  able  to  do  these  things  ade- 
quately or  perfectly  if  left  to  himself  from  birth. 
This  sort  of  endowment  with  imperfect  instincts 
has  been  the  field  of  some  of  the  most  interesting 
research  in  animal  psychology,  and  has  led  to  a 
new  view  of  the  relation  of  instinct  to  intelligence. 

3.  It  has  been  found  that  young  animals,  birds, 
etc.,  depend  upon  the  example  and  instruction  of 
adults  for  the  first  performance  of  many  actions 
that  seem  to  be  instinctive.     This  dependence  may 
exist  even  in  cases  in  which  there  is  yet  a  congeni- 
tal tendency  to  perform  the  action.     Many  birds, 
for  example,  have  a   general  instinct  to  build  a 
nest ;  but  in  many  cases,  if  put  in   artificial  cir- 
cumstances, they  build  imperfect  nests.     Birds  also 
have  an  instinct  to  make  vocal  calls;  but  if  kept 
from  birth  out  of  hearing  of  the  peculiar  notes  of 


28  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

their  species,  they  come  to  make  cries  of  a  differ- 
ent sort,  or  learn  to  make  the  notes  of  some  other 
species  with  which  they  are  thrown. 

4.  The  principal  agency  for  the  learning  of  the 
animals,  and  for  the  supplementing  of   their  in- 
stincts, is  Imitation.     The  sight  of  certain  move- 
ments on  the  part  of  the  adult  animals,  or  the 
hearing  of  their  cries,  calls,  notes,  etc.,  leads  the 
young  to  fall  into  an  imitation  of  these  movements 
or  vocal    performances.     The  endowment  which 
such  a  young  animal  has  in  the  direction  of  mak- 
ing movements  and  cries  similar  to  those  of  his 
species  aids  him,  of  course,  in  imitating  these  in 
preference  to  others.     So  the  endowment  and  the 
tendency  to  imitate  directly  aid  each  other  in  all 
such  functions,  and  hurry  the  little  creature  on  in 
his  acquisition  of  the  habits  of  his  species.     We 
find  young  animals    clinging  even  in  their  imi- 
tations pretty  closely  to  their  own  proper  fathers 
and  mothers,  who  are  thus  enabled  to  bring  them 
up  comme  il  faut. 

5.  There  is  every  reason  to  think,  moreover, 
that  the  tendency  to  imitate  is  itself  instinctive. 
Young  animals,  notably  the  monkey  and  the  child, 
fall  spontaneously  to  imitating  when  they  reach  a 
certain  age.     Imitation  shows  itself  to  be  instinct- 
ive in  the  case  of  the  mocking  bird,  the  parrot, 
etc.     Furthermore,  the  mechanism  of  this  func- 
tion of  imitation  is  now  very  well  known.     The 
principle  of  psychology  recognised  above  under 
the   phrase    Kinaesthetic  Equivalents,  teaches  us 
that  the  idea  of  a  movement,  coming  into  the  mind 
through   sight  or  some  other  sense,  stirs  up  the 
proper  apparatus  to  bring  about  the  same  move- 
ment in  the  observer.     This  we  see  in  the  com- 
mon tendency  of  an  audience  to  repeat  the  ges- 


THE   MIND   OF   THE  ANIMAL.  29 

tures  of  a  speaker,  and  in  many  similar  cases. 
When  this  principle  is  extended  to  include  all 
sorts  of  experiences  besides  those  of  movement, 
we  have  what  is  generally  called  Imitation.  More- 
over, every  time  that  by  action  the  child  imitates, 
he  perceives  his  own  imitation,  and  this  again  acts 
as  a  "copy"  or  model  for  another  repetition  of 
the  act,  and  so  on.  This  method  of  keeping  him- 
self going  gives  the  young  animal  or  child  con- 
stant practice,  and  renders  him  more  and  more 
efficient  in  the  acts  necessary  to  his  life. 

6.  It  is  evident  what  great  profit  accrues  from 
this  arrangement  whereby  a  general  instinct  like 
imitation  takes  the  place  of  a  number  of  spe- 
cial instincts,  or  supplements  them.  It  gives  a 
measure  of  plasticity  to  the  creature.  He  can 
now  respond  suitably  to  changes  in  the  environ- 
ment in  which  he  lives.  The  special  instincts,  on 
the  contrary,  are  for  the  most  part  so  fixed  that 
the  animal  must  act  just  as  they  require  him  to  in 
this  or  that  circumstance;  but  as  soon  as  his  in- 
stinct takes  on  the  form  of  imitation,  the  result- 
ing action  tends  to  conform  itself  to  the  model 
actions  of  the  other  creatures  which  set  "copies  " 
before  him. 

These  more  or  less  new  results  due  to  recent 
research  in  the  province  of  Instinct  have  had 
direct  bearing  upon  theories  of  the  origin  of  in- 
stinct and  of  its  place  in  animal  life. 

Theories  of  Instinct. — Apart  from  the  older 
view  which  saw  in  animal  instinct  simply  a  mat- 
ter of  original  created  endowment,  whereby  each 
animal  was  made  once  for  all  "  after  his  kind," 
and  according  to  which  there  is  no  further  reason 
that  the  instincts  are  what  they  are  than  that 
they  were  made  so ;  apart  from  this  "  special  crea- 


30  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

tion  "  view,  two  different  ideas  have  had  currency, 
both  based  upon  the  theory  of  evolution.  Each 
of  these  views  assumes  that  the  instincts  have 
been  developed  from  more  simple  animal  actions 
by  a  gradual  process;  but  they  differ  as  to  the  ele- 
ments originally  entering  into  the  actions  which 
afterward  became  instinctive. 

i.  First,  there  is  what  is  called  the  Reflex 
Theory.  This  holds  that  instincts  are  reflex  ac- 
tions, like  the  closing  of  the  eye  when  an  object 
threatens  to  enter  it,  only  much  more  complex. 
They  are  due  to  the  compounding  and  adding  to- 
gether of  simple  reflexes,  in  greater  and  greater 
number,  and  with  increasing  efficiency.  This 
theory  attempts  to  account  for  instinct  entirely 
in  terms  of  nervous  action.  It  goes  with  that 
view  of  evolution  which  holds  that  the  nervous 
system  has  had  its  growth  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration by  the  continued  reflex  adjustments  of  the 
organism  to  its  environment,  whereby  more  and 
more  delicate  adaptations  to  the  external  world 
were  secured.  In  this  way,  say  the  advocates  of 
this  theory,  we  may  account  for  the  fact  that  the 
animal  has  no  adequate  knowledge  of  what  he 
is  doing  when  he  performs  an  act  instinctively; 
he  has  no  end  or  aim  in  his  mind  ;  he  simply  feels 
his  nervous  system  doing  what  it  is  fitted  to  do 
by  its  organic,  adaptations  to  the  stimulations  of 
air,  and  earth,  and  sea,  whatever  these  may  be. 

But  it  may  be  asked  :  Why  do  succeeding  gen- 
erations improve  each  on  its  parents,  so  that  there 
is  a  gradual  tendency  to  perfect  the  instinct  ? 

The  answer  to  this  question  brings  up  another 
great  law  of  biology — the  principle  of  Variations. 
This  principle  states  the  common  fact  that  in  every 
case  of  a  family  of  offspring  the  individual  young 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   ANIMAL.  31 

vary  slightly  in  all  directions  from  their  parents. 
Admitting  this,  we  will  find  in  each  group  of  fami- 
lies some  young  individuals  which  are  better  than 
their  parents  ;  these  will  have  the  advantage  over 
others  and  will  be  the  ones  to  grow  up  and  have 
the  children  of  the  next  generation  again,  and  so 
on.  So  by  constant  Variation  and  Natural  Selec- 
tion— that  is,  the  "  Survival  of  the  Fittest  "  in 
competition  with,  the  rest — there  will  be  constant 
improvement  in  the  Instinct. 

2.  The  other  theory,  the  rival  one,  holds  that 
there  are  some  instincts  which  show  so  plainly 
the  marks  of  Reason  that  some  degree  of  intelli- 
gent adjustment  to  the  environment  must  be  al- 
lowed to  the  animal  in  the  acquiring  of  these 
functions.  For  example,  we-  are  told  that  some 
of  the  muscular  movements  involved  in  the  in- 
stincts— such,  for  example,  as  the  bird's  nest- 
building — are  so  complex  and  so  finely  adjusted 
to  an  end,  that  it  is  straining  belief  to  suppose 
that  they  could  have  arisen  gradually  by  reflex 
adaptation  alone.  There  is  also  a  further  difficulty 
with  the  reflex  theory  which  has  seemed  insur- 
mountable to  many  of  the  ablest  psychologists  of 
animal  life;  the  difficulty,  namely,  that  many  of 
the  instincts  require  the  action  of  a  great  many 
muscles  at  the  same  time,  so  acting  in  "  correla- 
tion "  with  or  support  of  one  another  that  it  is 
impossible  to  suppose  that  the  instinct  has  been 
acquired  gradually.  For  in  the  very  nature  of 
these  cases  we  can  not  suppose  the  instinct  to 
have  ever  been  imperfect,  seeing  that  the  partial 
.  instinct  which  would  have  preceded  the  perfect 
performance  for  some  generations  would  have 
been  not  only  of  no  use  to  the  creature,  but  in 
many  cases  positively  injurious.  For  instance, 


32  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

what  use  to  an  animal  to  be  able  partly  to  make 
the  movements  of  swimming;  or  to  the  birds  to 
build  an  inadequate  nest?  Such  instincts  would 
not  be  usable  at  all.  So  we  are  told  by  the  sec- 
ond theory  that  the  animals  must  have  had  intel- 
ligence to  do  these  things  when  they  first  acquired 
them.  Yet,  as  is  everywhere  admitted,  after  the. 
instinct  has  been  acquired  by  the  species  it  is  then 
carried  out  without  knowledge  and  intelligent  de- 
sign, being  handed  down  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration by  heredity. 

This  seems  reasonable,  for  we  do  find  that 
actions  which  were  at  first  intelligent  may  be  per- 
formed so  frequently  that  we  come  to  do  them 
without  thinking  of  them ;  to  do  them  from  habit. 
So  the  animals,  we  are  told,  have  come  to  do 
theirs  reflexly,  although  at  first  they  required  in- 
telligence. From  this  point  of  view — that  al- 
though intelligence  was  at  first  required,  yet  the 
actions  have  become  instinctive  and  lacking  in 
intelligent  direction  in  later  generations — this  is 
called  the  theory  of  Lapsed  Intelligence. 

This  theory  has  much  to  commend  it.  It  cer- 
tainly meets  the  objection  to  the  reflex  theory 
which  was  stated  just  above — the  objection  that 
some  of  the  instincts  could  not  have  arisen  by 
gradual  reflex  adaptations.  It  also  accounts  for 
the  extremely  intelligent  appearance  which  many 
instincts  have. 

But  this  view  in  turn  is  liable  to  a  criticism 
which  has  grown  in  force  with  the  progress  of  bio- 
logical knowledge  in  recent  years.  This  criticism 
is  based  on  the  fact  that  the  theory  of  lapsed  intel- 
ligence demands  that  the  actions  which  the  animals 
of  one  generation  have  acquired  by  their  intelli- 
gence should  be  handed  down  through  heredity 


THE  MIND  OF  THE  ANIMAL.  33 

to  the  next  generation,  and  so  on.  It  is  evident 
that  unless  this  be  true  it  does  no  good  to  the  spe- 
cies for  one  generation  to  do  things  intelligently, 
seeing  that  if  the  effects  on  the  nervous  system 
are  not  transmitted  to  their  children,  then  the 
next  and  later  generations  will  have  to  start  ex- 
actly where  their  fathers  did,  and  the  actions 
in  question  will  never  become  ingrained  in  the 
nervous  system  at  all. 

Now,  the  force  of  this  criticism  is  overwhelm- 
ing to  those  who  believe — as  the  great  majority 
of  biologists  now  do  * — that  none  of  the  modifica- 
tions or  so-called  "  characters  "  acquired  by  the 
parents,  none  of  the  effects  of  use  or  disuse  of 
their  limbs,  none  of  the  tendencies  or  habits  of 
action,  in  short,  none  of  the  changes  wrought  in 
body  or  mind  of  the  parents  during  their  lifetime, 
are  inherited  by  their  children.  The  only  sorts 
of  modification  which  show  themselves  in  subse- 
quent generations  are  the  deep-seated  effects  of 
disease,  poison,  starvation,  and  other  causes 
which  concern  the  system  as  a  whole,  but  which 
show  no  tendency  to  reproduce  by  heredity  any 
of  the  special  actions  or  functions  which  the 
fathers  and  mothers  may  have  learned  and  prac- 
tised. If  this  difficulty  could  be  met,  the  theory 
that  intelligence  has  been  at  work  in  the  origina- 
tion of  the  complex  instincts  would  be  altogether 
the  preferable  one  of  the  two ;  but  if  not,  then 
the  "  lapsed  intelligence  "  view  must  be  thrown 
overboard. 

Recent   discussion    of   evolution  has  brought 


*  The  matter  is  still  under  discussion,  however,  and  I  do 
not  mean  in  any  way  to  deny  the  authority  of  those  who  still 
accept  the  "  inheritance  of  acquired  characters." 


34  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

out  a  point  of  view  under  the  name  of  Organic 
Selection  which  has  a  very  fruitful  application 
to  this  controversy  over  the  origin  of  instincts. 
This  point  of  view  is  one  which  in  a  measure 
reconciles  the  two  theories.  It  claims  that  it  is 
possible  for  the  intelligent  adaptations,  or  any 
sort  of  "  accommodations,"  made  by  the  indi- 
viduals of  one  generation,  to  set  the  direction  of 
subsequent  evolution,  even  though  there  be  no 
direct  inheritance  of  acquired  characters  from 
father  to  son.  It  proceeds  in  the  case  of  instinct 
somewhat  thus: 

Suppose  we  say,  with  the  first  theory  given 
above,  that  the  organism  has  certain  reflexes 
which  show  some  degree  of  adaptation  to  the 
environment ;  then  suppose  we  admit  the  point, 
urged  by  the  advocates  of  the  lapsed  intelligence 
theory,  that  the  gradual  improvement  of  these 
reflexes  by  variations  in  the  endowment  of  suc- 
cessive generations  would  not  suffice  for  the 
origin  of  instinct,  seeing  that  partial  instincts 
would  not  be  useful;  and,  further,  suppose  we 
agree  that  many  of  the  complex  instincts  really 
involved  intelligent  adaptation  in  their  acquisi- 
tion. These  points  carefully  understood,  then 
,  one  new  and  further  principle  will  enable  us  to 
complete  a  theory  which  will  avoid  the  objec- 
tions to  both  the  others.  This  principle  is  noth- 
ing else  than  what  we  have  seen  already — namely, 
that  the  intelligence  supplements  the  partial  in- 
stincts in  each  generation  and  makes  them  useful 
in  the  respects  in  which  they  are  inadequate,  and 
so  keeps  the  young  alive  in  successive  genera- 
tions as  long  as  the  instinct  is  imperfect.  This 
gives  the  species  time  gradually  to  supplement  its 
instinctive  endowment,  in  the  course  of  many 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   ANIMAL. 


35 


generations  each  of  which  uses  its  intelligence 
in  the  same  way :  time  to  accumulate,  by  the  oc- 
currence of  variations  among  the  offspring,  the 
changes  in  the  nervous  system  which  the  perfect 
instinct  requires.  Thus  as  time  goes  on  the  de- 
pendence of  each  generation  upon  the  aid  of  in- 
telligence is  less  and  less,  until  the  nervous  sys- 
tem becomes  capable  of  performing  the  function 
quite  alone.  The  result  then  will  be  the  same  as 
if  the  acquisitions  made  by  each  generation  had 
been  inherited,  while  in  reality  they  have  not. 
All  that  this  theory  requires  in  addition  to  what 
is  admitted  by  both  the  historical  views  is  that 
the  species  be  kept  alive  long  enough  by  the  aid 
of  its  intelligence,  which  supplements  imperfect 
instincts,  to  give  it  time  to  produce  sufficient  va- 


FlG.  i. — Origin  of  instinct  by  Organic  Selection :  A  «,  perfect  in- 
stinct, i,  2  .  .  .  n,  successive  generations.  Solid  lines,  nerv- 
ous equipment  in  the  direction  of  the  instinct.  Dotted  lines, 
intelligence  supplementing  the  nervous  equipment.  The  intel- 
ligence is  relied  upon  to  keep  the  species  alive  until  by  congeni- 
tal variations  the  nervous  equipment  becomes  "  perfect." 

nations  in  the  right  direction.  The  instinct  then 
achieves  its  independence,  and  intelligent  super- 
vision of  it  is  no  longer  necessary  (see  Fig.  i). 


36  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

This  theory  is  directly  confirmed  by  the  facts, 
already  spoken  of,  which  show  that  many  instincts 
are  imperfect,  but  are  pieced  out  and  made  effec- 
tive by  the  intelligent  imitations  and  acquisitions 
of  the  young  creatures.  Trie  little  chick,  for  ex- 
ample, does  not  know  the  value  of  water  when  he 
sees  it,  as  essential  as  water  is  to  his  life;  but  he 
depends  upon  imitation  of  his  mother's  drinking, 
or  upon  the  mere  accident  of  wetting  his  bill,  to 
stimulate  his  partial  instinct  of  drinking  in  the 
peculiar  fashion  characteristic  of  fowls,  by  throw- 
ing back  the  head.  So  in  other  functions  which 
are  peculiar  to  a  species  and  upon  which  their 
very  lives  depend,  we  find  the  delicate  adjust- 
ment between  intelligent  adaptation  by  conscious 
action  and  the  partially  formed  instincts  which 
the  creatures  possess. 

In  the  theory  of  Organic  Selection,  therefore, 
we  seem  to  have  a  positive  solution  of  the  ques- 
tion of  the  origin  of  instinct.  It  is  capable  of  a 
similar  application  in  other  cases  where  evolution 
has  taken  certain  definite  directions,  seemingly 
guided  by  intelligence.  It  shows  us  that  mind 
has  had  a  positive  place  in  the  evolution  of 
organic  nature. 

Animal  Intelligence. — Coming  to  consider  what 
further  equipment  the  animals  have,  we  light  upon 
the  fact  just  spoken  of  when  we  found  it  neces- 
sary to  appeal  in  some  measure  to  the  animal's 
Intelligence  to  supplement  his  instincts.  What  is 
meant  by  Intelligence  ? 

This  word  may  be  used  in  the  broad  sense  of 
denoting  all  use  of  consciousness,  or  mind,  con- 
sidered as  a  thing  in  some  way  additional  to  the 
reflexes  of  the  nervous  system.  In  the  life  of  the 


THE  MIND   OF  THE  ANIMAL.  37 

animal,  as  in  that  of  man,  wherever  we  find  the 
individual  doing  anything  with  reference  to  a 
mental  picture,  using  knowledge  or  experience  in 
any  form,  then  he  is  said  to  be  acting  intelli- 
gently. 

The  simplest  form  of  intelligent  action  in  the 
animal  world  and  that  from  which  most  of  the 
higher  forms  have  arisen  is  illustrated  in  the  fol- 
lowing example:  a  chick  will  peck  at  a  strange 
worm,  and,  finding  it  unpalatable,  will  then  in  the 
future  refuse  to  peck  at  worms  of  that  sort.  This 
refusal  to  do  a  second  time  what  has  once  had  a 
disagreeable  result  is  intelligent.  We  now  say 
that  the  chick  "  knows  "  that  the  worm  is  not 
good  to  eat.  The  instinctive  action  of  pecking 
.at  all  worms  is  replaced  by  a  refusal  to  peck  at 
certain  worms.  Again,  taking  the  reverse  case, 
we  find  that  the  chick  which  did  not  respond  to 
the  sight  of  drinking  water  instinctively,  but  had 
to  see  the  mother  drink  first,  acted  intelligently, 
or  through  a  state  of  consciousness,  when  it  imi- 
tated the  old  hen,  and  afterward  drank  of  its  own 
accord.  It  now  "knows"  that  water  is  the  thing 
to  drink. 

The  further  question  which  comes  upon  us 
here  concerns  the  animal's  acquisition  of  the 
action  appropriate  to  carry  out  his  knowledge. 
How  does  he  learn  the  muscular  combinations 
which  supplement  or  replace  the  earlier  instinctive 
ways  of  acting? 

This  question  appears  very  clearly  when  we  ask 
about  the  child's  acquisition  of  new  acts  of  skill. 
We  find  him  constantly  learning,  modifying  his 
habits,  refining  his  ways  of  doing  things,  becom- 
ing possessed  of  quite  new  and  complex  functions, 
such  as  speech,  handwriting,  etc.  All  these  are 


38  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

intelligent  activities ;  they  are  learned  very  gradu- 
ally and  with  much  effort  and  pains.  It  is  one  of 
the  most  important  and  interesting  questions  of 
all  psychology  to  ask  how  he  manages  to  bring 
the  nervous  and  muscular  systems  under  greater 
and  greater  control  by  his  mind.  How  can  he 
modify  and  gradually  improve  his  "  reactions  " — 
as  we  call  his  responses  to  the  things  and  situa- 
tions about  him — so  as  to  act  more  and  more 
intelligently  ? 

The  answer  seems  to  be  that  he  proceeds  by 
what  has  been  called  Experimenting.  He  does 
not  simply  do  things  because  he  has  intelligence, 
— simply  that  is,  because  he  sees  how  to  do  them 
without  first  learning  how;  that  is  the  older  and 
probably  quite  erroneous  view  of  intelligence. 
The  mind  can  not  move  the  body  simply  by  its 
fiat.  No  man  can  do  that.  Man,  like  the  little  ani- 
mal, has  to  try  things  and  keep  on  trying  things, 
in  order  to  find  out  the  way  they  work  and  what 
their  possibilities  are.  And  each  animal,  man, 
beast,  or  bird  has  to  do  it  for  himself.  Apart 
from  the  instinctive  actions  which  the  child  does 
without  knowing  their  value  at  all,  and  apart 
from  the  equally  instinctive  imitative  way  of  do- 
ing them  without  aiming  at  learning  more  by  the 
imitations,  he  proceeds  in  all  cases  to  make  experi- 
ments. Generally  his  experiments  work  through 
acts  of  imitation.  He  imitates  what  he  sees  some 
other  creature  do  ;  or  he  imitates  his  own  instinc- 
tive actions  by  setting  up  before  him  in  his  mind 
the  memories  of  the  earlier  performance;  or,  yet 
again,  after  he  has  struck  a  fortunate  combina- 
tion, he  repeats  that  imitatively.  Thus,  by  the 
principle  already  spoken  of,  he  stores  up  a  great 
mass  of  Kinsesthetic  Equivalents,  which  linger  in 


THE   MIND   OF   THE   ANIMAL.  39 

memory,  and  enable  him  to  act  appropriately 
when  the  proper  circumstances  come  in  his  way. 
He  also  gets  what  we  have  called  Associations 
established  between  the  acts  and  the  pleasure  or 
pain  which  they  give,  and  so  avoids  the  painful 
and  repeats  the  pleasurable  ones. 

The  most  fruitful  field  of  this  sort  of  imitative 
learning  is  in  connection  with  the  "  try-try-again  " 
struggles  of  the  young,  especially  children.  This 
is  called  Persistent  Imitation  The  child  sees  be- 
fore him  some  action  to  imitate — some  complex 
act  of  manipulation  with  the  hand,  let  us  say. 
He  tries  to  perform  it  in  an  experimental  way, 
using  the  muscles  of  the  hand  and  arm.  With 
this  he  strains  himself  all  over,  twisting  his 
tongue,  bending  his  body,  and  grimacing  from 
head  to  foot,  so  to  speak.  Thus  he  gets  a  cer- 
tain way  toward  the  correct  result,  but  very 
crudely  and  inexactly.  Then  he  tries  again,  pro- 
ceeding now  on  the  knowledge  which  the  first 
effort  gave  him ;  and  his  trial  is  less  uncouth 
because  he  now  suppresses  some  of  the  hinder- 
ing grimacing  movements  and  retains  the  ones 
which  he  sees  to  be  most  nearly  correct.  Again 
he  tries,  and  again,  persistently  but  gradually 
reducing  the  blundering  movements  to  the  pat- 
tern of  the  copy,  and  so  learning  to  perform  the 
act  of  skill. 

The  massive  and  diffused  movements  which 
he  makes  by  wriggling  and  fussing  are  also  of 
direct  use  to  him.  They  increase  remarkably  the 
chances  that  among  them  all  there  will  be  some 
movements  which  will  hit  the  mark,  and  so  con- 
tribute to  his  stock  of  correct  Equivalents.  Dogs 
and  monkeys  learn  to  unlock  doors,  let  down 
fence  rails,  and  perform  relatively  complex  ac- 


40  THE   STORY  OF   THE   MIND. 

tions  by  experimenting  persistently  with  many 
varied  movements  until  the  successful  ones  are 
finally  struck. 

This  is  the  type  of  all  those  acts  of  experi- 
menting by  which  new  complex  movements  are 
acquired.  In  children  it  proceeds  largely  with- 
out interference  from  others;  the  child  persists 
of  himself.  Ha  has  greater  ability  than  the  ani- 
mals to  see  the  meaning  of  the  completed  act 
and  to  really  desire  to  acquire  it.  With  the  ani- 
mals the  acquisitions  do  not  extend  very  far,  on 
account  of  their  limitation  in  intelligent  endow- 
ment; but  in  the  training  of  the  domestic  ani- 
mals and  in  the  education  of  show-animals  the 
trainer  aids  them  and  urges  them  on  by  making 
use  of  the  associations  of  pleasure  and  pain 
spoken  of  above.  He  supplements  the  animal's 
feelings  of  pain  and  pleasure  with  the  whip  and 
with  rewards  of  food,  etc.,  so  that  each  step  of 
the  animal's  success  or  failure  has  acute  asso- 
ciations with  pain  or  pleasure.  Thus  the  animal 
gradually  gets  a  number  of  associations  formed, 
avoids  the  actions  with  which  pain  is  associated, 
repeats  those  which  call  up  memories  of  pleasure 
all  the  way  through  an  extended  performance  in 
regular  steps;  and  in  the  result  the  performance 
so  closely  counterfeits  the  operations  of  high  in- 
telligence— such  as  counting,  drawing  cards,  etc. 
— that  the  audience  is  excited  to  admiration. 

This  first  glimpse  of  the  animal's  limitations 
when  compared  with  man  may  suggest  the  gen- 
eral question,  how  far  the  brutes  go  in  their  intel- 
ligent endowment.  The  proper  treatment  of  this 
much-debated  point  requires  certain  further  ex- 
planations. 

In  the  child  we  find  a  tendency  to  act  in  cer- 


THE   MIND   OF   THE   ANIMAL.  41 

tain  ways  toward  all  objects,  events,  etc.,  which 
are  in  any  respect  alike.  After  learning  to  use 
the  hands,  for  example,  for  a  certain  act,  the  same 
hand  movements  are  afterward  used  for  other 
similar  acts  which  the  child  finds  it  well  to  per- 
form. He  thus  tends,  as  psychologists  say,  to 
"generalize,"  that  is,  to  take  up  certain  general 
attitudes  which  will  answer  for  a  great  many  de- 
tails of  experience.  On  the  side  of  the  reception 
of  his  items  of  knowledge  this  was  called  Assimi- 
lation, as  will  be  remembered.  This  saves  him 
enormous  trouble  and  risk;  for  as  soon  as  an 
object  or  situation  presents  itself  before  him  with 
certain  general  aspects,  he  can  at  once  take  up 
the  attitude  appropriate  to  these  general  aspects 
without  waiting  to  learn  the  particular  features 
of  the  new.  The  ability  to  do  this  shows  itself 
in  two  rather  different  ways  which  seem  respec- 
tively to  characterize  man  on  the  one  hand  and 
the  lower  animals  on  the  other. 

With  the  animals  this  tendency  to  generalize, 
to  treat  objects  in  classes  rather  than  as  indi- 
viduals, takes  the  form  of  a  sort  of  composition 
or  direct  union  of  brain  pathways.  Different 
experiences  are  had,  and  then  because  they  are 
alike  they  tend  to  issue  in  the  same  channels  of 
action.  The  animal  is  tied  down  strictly  to  his 
experience;  he  does  not  anticipate  to  any  extent 
what  is  going  to  happen.  He  does  not  use  one 
experience  as  a  symbol  and  apply  it  beforehand 
to  other  things  and  events.  He  is  in  a  sense 
passive;  stimulations  rain  down  upon  him,  and 
force  him  into  certain  attitudes  and  ways  of 
action.  As  far  as  his  knowledge  is  "general"  it 
is  called  a  Recept.  A  dog  has  a  Recept  of  the 
whip ;  so  far  as  whips  are  not  too  different  from 


42  THE   STORY   OF   THE    MIND. 

one  another,  the  dog  will  act  in  the  same  way 
toward  all  of  them.  In  man,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  development  of  mind  has  gone  a  decided  step 
further.  The  child  very  quickly  begins  to  use 
symbols,  words  being  the  symbols  of  first  im- 
portance to  him.  He  does  not  have,  like  the 
brute,  to  wait  for  successive  experiences  of  like 
objects  to  impress  themselves  upon  him ;  but  he 
goes  out  toward  the  new,  expecting  it  to  be  like 
the  old,  and  so  acting  as  to  anticipate  it.  He 
thus  falls  naturally  into  general  ways  of  acting 
which  it  is  the  function  of  experience  to  refine 
and  distinguish.  He  seems  to  have  more  of  the 
higher  sort  of  what  was  called  above  Appercep- 
tion, as  opposed  to  the  more  concrete  and  acci- 
dental Associations  of  Ideas.  He  gets  Concepts, 
as  opposed  to  the  Recepts  of  the  animals.  With 
this  goes  the  development  of  speech,  which  some 
psychologists  consider  the  source  of  all  the  man's 
superiority  over  the  animals.  Words  become  sym- 
bols of  a  highly  abstract  sort  for  certain  classes 
of  experiences;  and,  moreover,  through  speech  a 
means  of  social  communication  is  afforded  by 
which  the  development  of  the  individual  is  enor- 
mously advanced. 

It  is  probable,  in  fact,  that  this  difference — 
that  between  the  Generalization  which  uses  sym- 
bols, and  mere  Association — is  the  root  of  all  the 
differences  that  follow  later  on,  and  give  man  the 
magnificent  advantage  over  the  animals  which  he 
has.  From  it  is  developed  the  faculty  of  think- 
ing, reasoning,  etc.,  in  which  man  stands  practi- 
cally alone.  On  the  brain  side,  it  requires  special 
developments  both  through  the  preparation  of 
certain  brain  centres  given  over  to  the  speech 
function,  and  also  through  the  greater  organiza- 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   ANIMAL.  43 

tion  of  the  gray  matter  of  the  cerebral  cortex, 
to  which  we  revert  again  in  a  later  chapter.  In- 
deed, looked  at  from  the  side  of  the  development 
of  the  brain,  we  see  that  there  is  no  break  be- 
tween man  and  the  animals  in  the  laws  of  or- 
ganization, but  that  the  difference  is  one  of  evo- 
lution. 

Later  on  in  the  life  of  the  child  we  find  an- 
other contrast  connected  with  the  difference  of 
social  life  and  organization  as  between  the  ani- 
mals and  man.  The  animals  probably  do  not 
have  a  highly  organized  sense  of  Self  as  man 
does;  and  the  reason  doubtless  is  that  such  a 
Self-consciousness  is  the  outcome  of  life  and  ex- 
perience in  the  very  complex  social  relations  in 
which  the  human  child  is  brought  up,  and  which 
he  alone  is  fitted  by  his  inherited  gifts  to  sustain. 

The  Play  of  Animals. — Another  of  the  most  in- 
teresting questions  of  animal  life  is  that  which 
concerns  their  plays.  Most  animals  are  given  to 
play.  Indeed  that  they  indulge  in  a  remarkable 
variety  of  sports  is  well  known  even  to  the  novice 
in  the  study  of  their  habits.  Beginning  when  very 
young,  they  gambol,  tussle,  leap,  and  run  together, 
chase  one  another,  play  with  inanimate  objects,  as 
the  kitten  with  the  ball,  join  in  the  games  of  chil- 
dren and  adults,  as  the  dog  which  plays  hide  and 
seek  with  his  little  master,  and  all  with  a  knowing- 
ness  and  zest  which  makes  them  the  best  of  com- 
panions. The  volumes  devoted  to  the  subject 
give  full  accounts  of  these  plays  of  animals,  and 
we  need  not  repeat  them ;  the  psychologist  is 
interested,  however,  mainly  in  the  general  func- 
tion of  play  in  the  life  of  the  individual  animal 
and  child,  and  in  the  psychological  states  and 
motives  which  it  reveals.  Play,  whether  in  ani- 


44  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

mals  or  in  man,  shows  certain  general  character- 
sties  which  we  may  briefly  consider. 

1.  The  plays  of  animals  are  very  largely  in- 
stinctive,  being    indulged    in    for  the  most  part 
without  instruction.    The  kitten  leaps  impulsively 
to  the  game.      Little    dogs  romp   untaught,  and 
fall,   as  do   other   animals   also,   when    they  are 
strong  enough,  into  all  the  playful  attitudes  which 
mark  their  kind.     This  is  seen  strikingly  among 
adult  animals  in  what  are  called  the   courtship 
plays.     The  birds,  for  example,  indulge  in  elab- 
orate and  beautiful  evolutions  of  a  playful  sort 
at  the  mating  season. 

2.  It  follows  from  their  instinctive  character 
that   animal    plays   are    peculiar    to    the   species 
which   perform  them.     We   find   series  of  sports 
peculiar  to  dogs,  others  to  cats,  and  so  on  through 
all  the  species  of  the  zoological  garden,  whether 
the  creatures  be  wild  or  tame.     Each  shows  its 
species  as  clearly  by  its  sportive  habits  as  by  its 
shape,  cry,  or  any  other  of  what  are  called  its 
"  specific  "  habits.     This  is  important  not  only  to 
the  zoologist,  as  indicating  differences  of  evolu- 
tion and  scale  of  attainment,  environment,  etc., 
but  also  to  the  psychologist,  as  indicating  differ- 
ences of  what  we  may  call  animal   temperament. 
Animals  show  not  only  the  individual  differences 
which   human  beings  do,  one  liking  this  game  and 
another  that,  one  being  leader  in  the  sport   and 
another  the  follower,  but  also  the  greater  differ- 
ences which  characterize  races.      The  Spaniards 
love  the  bull  fight;  other  nations  consider  it  re- 
pulsive, and  take  their  fun  in  less  brutal  forms, 
although,  perchance,  they  tolerate    Rugby  foot- 
ball !     So  the  animals  vary  in  their  tastes,  some 
playing  incessantly  at  fighting,  and  so  zealously 


THE  MIND  OF  THE  ANIMAL.  45 

as  to  injure  one  another,  while  others  like  the 
milder  romp,  and  the  game  with  flying  leaves, 
rolling  stones,  or  the  incoming  waves  on  the 
shore. 

3.  Psychologically,  the  most  interesting  char- 
acteristic of  animal,  as  of  human,  play  is  what  is 
called  the  "  make-believe  "  state  of  mind  which 
enters  into  it.  If  we  consider  our  own  sports  we 
find  that,  in  the  midst  of  the  game,  we  are  in  a 
condition  of  divided  consciousness.  We  indulge 
in  the  scheme  of  play,  whatever  it  be,  as  if  it  were 
a  real  situation,  at  the  same  time  preserving  our 
sense  that  it  is  not  real.  That  is,  we  distinguish 
through  it  all  the  actual  realities,  but  make  the 
convention  with  our  companions  that  for  the 
time  we  will  act  together  as  if  the  playful  situation 
were  real.  With  it  there  is  a  sense  that  it  is  a  mat- 
ter of  voluntary  indulgence  that  can  stop  at 
anytime;  that  the  whole  temporary  illusion  to 
which  we  submit  is  strictly  our  own  doing,  a  job 
which  we  have  "  put  up  "  on  ourselves.  That  is 
what  is  meant  by  make-believe. 

Now  it  is  clear  that  the  animals  have  this 
sense  of  make-believe  in  their  games  both  with 
other  animals  and  with  man.  The  dog  plays  at 
biting  the  hand  of  his  master,  and  actually  takes 
the  member  between  his  teeth  and  mumbles  it; 
but  all  the  while  he  stops  short  of  painful  pres- 
sure, and  goes  through  a  series  of  characteristic 
attitudes  which  show  that  he  distinguishes  very 
clearly  between  this  play  biting  and  the  real.  If 
perchance  the  master  shows  signs  of  being  hurt, 
the  dog  falls  into  attitudes  of  sorrow,  and  apolo- 
gizes fulsomely.  So  also  when  the  animals  play 
together,  a  vigorous  squeal  from  a  companion 
who  is  "  under  "  generally  brings  him  his  release. 


46  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

The  principal  interest  of  this  make-believe 
consciousness  is  that  it  is  considered  by  many  to 
be  an  essential  ingredient  of  ^Esthetic  feeling. 
A  work  of  art  is  said  to  have  its  effect  through 
its  tendency  to  arouse  in  us  a  make-believe  ac- 
ceptance of  the  scene  or  motive  presented,  while 
it  nevertheless  remains  contrasted  with  the  re- 
alities of  our  lives.  If  this  be  true,  the  interest- 
ing question  arises  how  far  the  animals  also  have 
the  germs  of  ^Esthetic  feeling  in  their  make-be- 
lieve situations.  Does  the  female  pea-fowl  con- 
sider the  male  bird,  with  all  his  display  of  colour 
and  movement,  a  beautiful  object  ?  And  does 
the  animal  companion  say  :  How  beautiful !  when 
his  friend  in  the  sport  makes  a  fine  feint,  and 
comes  up  serene  with  the  knowing  look,  which 
the  human  on-looker  can  not  fail  to  understand  ? 

In  some  cases,  at  any  rate,  we  should  have  to 
reply  to  this  question  affirmatively,  if  we  con- 
sidered make-believe  the  essential  thing  in  aesthet- 
ic enjoyment. 

Theories  of  Animal  Play. — The  question  of  the 
meaning  and  value  of  play  to  the  animals  has 
had  very  enlightening  discussion  of  late.  There 
are  two  principal  theories  now  advocated. 

I.  The  older  theory  considered  play  simply 
the  discharge  of  surplus  nerve  force  in  the  ani- 
mal's organism.  He  was  supposed  to  play  when 
he  felt  fresh  and  vigorous.  The  horse  is  "skit- 
tish" and  playful  in  the  morning,  not  so  much  so 
at  night.  The  dogs  lie  down  and  rest  when  they 
are  tired,  having  used  up  their  surplus  energies. 
This  is  called  the  Surplus-Energy  Theory  of 
play. 

The  difficulty  with  this  theory  is  that  it  is  not 
adequate  to  explain  any  of  the  characteristics  of 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   ANIMAL.  47 

play  which  have  been  given  above.  Why  should 
play  be  instinctive  in  its  forms,  showing  certain 
complex  and  ingrained  channels  of  expression,  if 
it  were  merely  the  discharge  of  surplus  force  ?  We 
are  more  lively  in  the  morning,  but  that  does  not 
explain  our  liking  and  indulging  in  certain  sorts  of 
complex  games  at  all  hours.  Moreover,  animals 
and  children  will  continue  to  play  when  greatly 
fatigued.  A  dog,  for  example,  which  seems  ab- 
solutely "used  up,"  can  not  resist  the  renewed 
solicitations  of  his  friends  to  continue  the  chase. 
Furthermore,  why  is  it  that  plays  are  character- 
istic of  species,  different  kinds  of  animals  having 
plays  quite  peculiar  to  themselves  ?  It  is  difficult 
to  see  how  this  could  have  come  about  unless 
there  had  been  some  deeper-going  reason  in  ac- 
cordance with  which  each  species  has  learned  the 
particular  forms  of  sport  in  which  it  indulges. 

The  advocates  of  this  theory  attempt  to  meet 
these  objections  by  saying  that  the  imitative  in- 
stinct accounts  for  the  particular  directions  in 
which  the  discharges  of  energy  occur.  A  kitten's 
plays  are  like  those  of  the  cat  tribe  because  the 
kitten  is  accustomed  to  imitate  cats;  when  it  falls 
to  playing  it  is  with  cats,  and  so  it  sheds  its 
superfluous  energies  in  the  customary  imitative 
channels.  In  this  way  it  grows  to  learn  the 
games  of  its  own  species.  There  is  a  good  deal 
in  this  point ;  most  games  are  imitative  in  so  far 
as  they  are  learned  at  all.  But  it  does  not  save 
the  theory ;  for  many  animal  plays  are  not  learned 
by  the  individual  at  all,  as  we  have  seen  above  ; 
on  the  contrary,  they  are  instinctive.  In  these 
cases  the  animal  does  not  wait  to  learn  the  games 
of  his  tribe  by  imitation,  but  starts-right-in  on 
his  own  account.  Besides  this  there  are  many 
5 


48  THE   STORY   OF   THE    MIND. 

forms  of  animal  play  which  are  not  imitative  at 
all.  In  these  the  animals  co-operate,  but  do  not 
take  the  same  parts.  The  young  perform  actions 
in  the  game  which  the  mother  does  not. 

All  this  goes  to  support  another  and  most 
serious  objection  to  this  theory — in  the  mind  of 
all  those  who  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  evolution. 
The  Surplus-Energy  Theory  considers  the  play- 
impulse,  which  is  one  of  the  most  widespread  char- 
acters of  animal  life,  as  merely  an  accidental 
thing  or  by-product — a  mere  using-up  of  surplus 
energies.  It  is  not  in  any  way  important  to  the 
animals.  This  makes  it  impossible  to  say  that  play 
has  come  to  be  the  very  complex  thing  that  it 
really  is  by  the  laws  of  evolution ;  for  survival  by 
natural  selection  always  supposes  that  the  attri- 
bute or  character  which  survives  is  important 
enough  to  keep  the  animal  alive  in  the  struggle 
for  existence;  otherwise  it  would  not  be  con- 
tinued for  successive  generations,  and  gradually 
perfected  on  account  of  its  utility. 

On  the  whole,  therefore,  we  find  the  Surplus- 
Energy  Theory  of  play  quite  inadequate. 

II.  Another  theory  therefore  becomes  neces- 
sary if  we  are  to  meet  these  difficulties.  Such  a 
theory  has  recently  been  developed.  It  holds 
that  the  plays  of  the  animals  are  of  the  greatest 
utility  to  them  in  this  way  :  they  exercise  the 
young  animals  in  the  very  activities — though  in  a 
playful  way — in  which  they  must  seriously  engage 
later  on  in  life.  A  survey  of  the  plays  of  animals 
with  a  view  to  comparing  them  in  each  case  with 
the  adult  activities  of  the  same  species,  confirms 
this  theory  in  a  remarkably  large  number  of  cases. 
It  shows  the  young  anticipating,  in  their  play, 
the  struggles,  enjoyments,  co-operations,  defeats, 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   ANIMAL.  49 

emergencies,  etc.,  of  their  after  lives,  and  by 
learning  to  cope  with  all  these  situations,  so  pre- 
paring themselves  for  the  serious  onset  of  adult 
responsibilities.  On  this  theory  each  play  be- 
comes a  beautiful  case  of  adaptation  to  nature. 
The  kitten  plays  with  the  ball  as  the  old  cat 
handles  the  mouse ;  the  little  dogs  wrestle  to- 
gether, and  so  learn  to  fight  with  teeth  and 
claws;  the  deer  run  from  one  another,  and  so 
test  their  speed  and  learn  to  escape  their  ene- 
mies. If  we  watch  young  animals  at  play  we  see 
that  not  a  muscle  or  nerve  escapes  this  prelim- 
inary training  and  exercise  ;  and  the  instinctive 
tendencies  which  control  the  play  direct  the  ac- 
tivities into  just  the  performances  which  the 
animal's  later  life-habits  are  going  on  to  require. 

On  this  view  play  becomes  of  the  utmost  util- 
ity. It  is  not  a  by-product,  but  an  essential  part 
of  the  animal's  equipment.  Just  as  the  infancy 
period  has  been  lengthened  in  the  higher  animals 
in  order  to  give  the  young  time  to  learn  all  that 
they  require  to  meet  the  harsh  conditions  of  life, 
so  during  this  infancy  period  they  have  in  the 
play-instinct  a  means  of  the  first  importance  for 
making  good  use  of  their  time.  It  is  beautiful  to 
see  the  adults  playing  with  their  young,  adapting 
their  strength  to  the  little  ones,  repeating  the 
same  exercises  without  ceasing,  drilling  them  with 
infinite  pains  to  greater  hardihood,  endurance, 
and  skill. 

On  this  theory  it  is  also  easy  to  see  why  it  is 
that  the  plays  are 'different  for  the  different  spe- 
cies. The  actual  life  conditions  are  different,  and 
the  habits  of  the  species  are  correspondingly  dif- 
ferent. So  it  is  only  another  argument  for  the 
truth  of  this  theory  that  we  find  just  those  games 


50  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MJND. 

natural  to  the  young  which  train  them  in  the 
habits  natural  to  the  old. 

This  view  is  now  being  very  generally  adopted. 
Many  fine  illustrations  might  be  cited.  A  simple 
case  may  be  seen  in  so  small  a  thing  as  the  habit 
of  leaping  in  play  ;  the  difference,  for  example,  be- 
tween the  mountain  goat  and  the  common  fawn. 
The  former,  when  playing  on  level  ground  makes 
a  very  ludicrous  exhibition  by  jumping  in  little 
up-and-down  leaps  by  which  he  makes  no  prog- 
ress. In  contrast  with  this  the  fawn,  whose  adult 
life  is  normally  in  the  plains,  takes  a  long  grace- 
ful spring.  The  difference  becomes  clear  from 
the  point  of  view  of  this  theory,  when  we  remem- 
ber that  the  goat  is  to  live  among  the  rocks, 
where  the  only  useful  jump  is  just  the  up-and- 
down  sort  which  the  little  fellow  is  now  prac- 
tising ;  while  the  deer,  in  his  life  upon  the  plains, 
will  always  need  the  running  jump. 

Finally,  on  this  theory,  play  becomes  a  thing 
for  evolution  to  cultivate  for  its  utility  in  the 
progress  of  animal  life,  and  for  that  reason  we 
may  suppose  it  has  been  perfected  in  the  re- 
markable variety  and  beauty  o£  form  which  it 
shows. 

On  the  psychological  side,  we  find  a  corre- 
sponding state  of  things.  The  mind  in  the  young 
animal  or  child  gets  the  main  education  of  early 
life  through  its  play  situations.  Games  have  an 
extraordinary  pedagogical  influence.  The  more 
so  because  they  are  the  natural  and  instinctive  way 
of  getting  an  education  in  practical  things.  This 
again  is  of  supreme  utility  to  the  individuals. 

Both  for  body  and  mind  we  find  that  play  illus- 
trates the  principle  of  Organic  Selection  explained 
above.  It  makes  the  young  animal  flexible,  plas- 


THE   MIND   OF   THE   CHILD.  51 

tic,  and  adaptable ;  it  supplements  all  his  other  in- 
stincts and  imperfect  functions  ;  it  gives  him  a 
new  chance  to  live,  and  so  determines  the  course 
of  evolution  in  the  direction  which  the  playful 
animal  represents.  The  quasi-social  and  gregari- 
ous habits  of  animals  probably  owe  much  of  their 
strength  to  the  play-impulse,  both  through  the 
training  of  individual  animals  and  through  the 
fixing  of  these  tendencies  as  instincts  in  various 
animal  species  in  the  way  just  mentioned. 

In  another  place  below  I  analyze  a  child's 
game  and  draw  some  inferences  from  it.  Here  it 
may  suffice  to  say  that  in  their  games  the  young 
animals  acquire  the  flexibility  of  mind  and  muscle 
upon  which  much  of  the  social  co-operation,  as 
well  as  the  individual  effectiveness,  of  their  later 
life  depends.  With  children,  it  is  not  the  only 
agency,  of  course,  though  its  importance  is  not 
less.  We  have  to  carry  the  children  further  by 
other  means;  but  the  other  means  should  never 
interfere  with  this  natural  schooling.  They  should 
aim  the  rather  by  supplementing  it  wisely  to  direct 
its  operation  and  to  extend  its  sphere. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    MIND    OF    THE    CHILD — CHILD    PSYCHOLOGY. 

ONE  of  the  most  interesting  chapters  of  modern 
psychology  is  that  which  deals  with  the  child.  This 
is  also  one  of  the  topics  of  general  concern,  since 
our  common  humanity  reacts  with  greater  geniality 
upon  the  little  ones,  in  whom  we  instinctively  see 
innocence  and  simplicity.  The  popular  interest 


52  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

in  children  has  been,  however — as  uncharitable  as 
it  may  seem  to  say  it — of  very  little  service  to  the 
scientific  investigation  of  childhood.  Even  to-day, 
when  a  greater  body  of  valuable  results  are  being 
secured,  the  main  danger  to  the  proper  study  of 
the  child's  mind  comes  from  the  over-enthusiasm 
and  uninstructed  assurance  of  some  of  its  friends. 
Especially  is  this  the  case  in  America,  where 
"  child  study  "  has  become  a  fad  to  be  pursued 
by  parents  and  teachers  who  know  little  about 
the  principles  of  scientific  method,  and  where 
influential  educators  have  enlisted  so-called  "  ob- 
servers "  in  taking  indiscriminate  notes  on  the 
doings  of  children  with  no  definite  problem  in 
view,  and  with  no  criticism  of  their  procedure. 
It  is  in  place,  therefore,  to  say  clearly,  at  the 
outset,  that  this  chapter  does  not  mean  to  stimu- 
late parents  or  unpsychological  readers  to  report 
observations;  and  further  to  say  also  that  in  the 
mind  of  the  writer  the  publications  made  lately 
of  large  numbers  of  replies  to  "  syllabi  "  are  for 
the  most  part  worthless,  because  they  heap  to- 
gether observations  obtained  by  persons  of  every 
degree  of  competence  and  incompetence. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  requisites  here,  as  in 
every  other  sphere  of  exact  observation,  are  clear 
enough.  The  student  of  the  child's  mind  should 
have  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  principles  of 
general  psychology,  in  order  to  know  what  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  child  when  he  sees  it,  and  what 
is  exceptional ;  and  he  should  also  have  enough 
originality  in  his  ideas  and  interpretations  to 
catch  the  valuable  in  the  child's  doings,  distin- 
guishing it  from  the  commonplace,  and  to  plan 
situations  and  even  experiments  which  will  give 
him  some  control  upon  those  actions  of  the  child 


THE   MIND   OF   THE   CHILD.  53 

which  seem  to  be  worth  it.  The  need  of  these 
qualities  is  seen  in  the  history  of  the  problems 
of  the  child's  growth  which  have  been  taken  up 
even  by  the  most  competent  psychologists.  The 
results  show  a  gradual  attainment  of  control 
over  the  problem  in  hand,  each  observer  criticis- 
ing the  method  and  results  of  his  predecessor 
until  certain  rules  of  observation  and  experiment 
have  been  evolved  which  allow  of  the  repetition 
and  repeated  observation  of  the  events  of  the 
child's  life. 

As  illustrating  the  sort  of  problems  in  which 
there  has  been  this  careful  and  critical  work,  I 
may  instance  these:  the  child's  reflex  movements, 
the  beginnings  and  growth  of  sensation,  such 
as  colour,  the  rise  of  discrimination  and  prefer- 
ence, the  origin  of  right-  and  left-handedness, 
the  rise,  mechanism,  and  meaning  of  imitation, 
the  acquisition  of  speech  and  handwriting,  the 
growth  of  the  child's  sense  of  personality  and 
of  his  social  consciousness,  and  the  laws  of  phys- 
ical growth,  as  bearing  upon  mental  develop- 
ment. In  all  these  cases,  however,  there  is  again 
a  greater  and  a  less  exactness.  The  topics  with 
the  reports  of  results  which  I  am  going  on  to  give 
may  be  taken,  however,  as  typical,  and  as  showing 
the  direction  of  complete  knowledge  rather  than 
as  having  in  any  one  case  approached  it. 

Before  we  take  up  particular  questions,  how- 
ever, a  word  may  be  allowed  upon  the  general 
bearings  of  the  study  of  the  child's  mind.  I  do 
this  the  more  willingly,  since  it  is  still  true,  in 
spite  of  the  hopeful  outlook  for  positive  results, 
that  it  is  mainly  the  willingness  of  psychology 
to  recognise  the  problems  and  work  at  them 
that  makes  the  topic  important  at  present.  To 


54  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

investigate  the  child  by  scientific  methods  is 
really  to  bring  into  psychology  a  procedure 
which  has  revolutionized  the  natural  sciences ; 
and  it  is  destined  to  revolutionize  the  moral 
sciences  by  making  them  also  in  a  great  meas- 
ure natural  sciences.  The  new  and  important 
question  about  the  mind  which  is  thus  recog- 
nised is  this  :  How  did  it  grow  ?  What  light  upon 
its  activity  and  nature  can  we  get  from  a  posi- 
tive knowledge  of  its  early  stages  and  processes 
of  growth  ?  This  at  once  introduces  other  ques- 
tions:  How  is  the  growth  of  the  child  related 
to  that  of  the  animals  ? — how,  through  heredity 
and  social  influences,  to  the  growth  of  the  race 
and  of  the  family  and  society  in  which  he  is 
brought  up  ?  All  this  can  be  comprehended  only 
in  the  light  of  the  doctrine  of  evolution,  which  has 
rejuvenated  the  sciences  of  life;  and  we  are  now 
beginning  to  see  a  rejuvenation  of  the  sciences 
of  mind  from  the  same  point  of  view.  This  is 
what  is  meant  when  we  hear  it  said  that  psy- 
chology is  becoming  "  genetic." 

The  advantages  to  be  derived  from  the  study 
of  young  children  from  this  point  of  view  may  be 
briefly  indicated. 

i.  In  the  first  place,  the  facts  of  the  infant  con- 
sciousness are  very  simple ;  that  is,  they  are  the 
child's  sensations  or  memories  simply,  not  his 
own  observations  of  them.  In  the  adult  mind 
the  disturbing  influence  of  self-observation  is  a 
matter  of  notorious  moment.  It  is  impossible  for 
me  to  report  exactly  what  I  feel,  for  the  observa- 
tion of  it  by  my  attention  alters  its  character. 
My  volition  also  is  a  complex  thing,  involving 
my  personal  pride  and  self-consciousness.  But 
the  child's  emotion  is  as  spontaneous  as  a  spring. 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   CHILD.  55 

The  effects  of  it  in  the  mental  life  come  out  in 
action,  pure  and  uninfluenced  by  calculation  and 
duplicity  and  adult  reserve.  There  is  around 
every  one  of  us  adults  a  web  of  convention  and 
prejudice  of  our  own  making.  Not  only  do  we 
reflect  the  social  formalities  of  our  environment, 
and  thus  lose  the  distinguishing  spontaneities  of 
childhood,  but  each  of  us  builds  up  his  own  little 
world  of  seclusion  and  formality  with  himself. 
We  are  subject,  as  Bacon  said,  not  only  to  "idols 
of  the  forum,"  but  also  to  "idols  of  the  den." 

The  child,  on  the  contrary,  has  not  learned 
his  own  importance,  his  pedigree,  his  beauty,  his 
social  place,  his  religion ;  he  has  not  observed 
himself  through  all  these  and  countless  other 
lenses  of  time,  place,  and  circumstance.  He  has 
not  yet  turned  himself  into  an  idol  nor  the  world 
into  a  temple ;  and  we  can  study  him  apart  from 
the  complex  accretions  which  are  the  later  de- 
posits of  his  self-consciousness. 

2.  The  study  of  children  is  often  the  only 
means  of  testing  the  truth  of  our  analyses.  If 
we  decide  that  a  certain  mental  state  is  due  to  a 
union  of  simpler  elements,  then  we  may  appeal  to 
the  proper  period  of  child  life  to  see  the  union 
taking  place.  The  range  of  growth  is  so  enor- 
mous from  the  infant  to  the  adult,  and  the  begin- 
nings of  the  child's  mental  life  are  so  low  in  the 
scale,  in  the  matter  of  mental  endowment,  that 
there  is  hardly  a  question  of  analysis  now  under 
debate  in  psychology  which  may  not  be  tested  by 
this  method. 

At  this  point  it  is  that  child  psychology  is 
more  valuable  than  the  study  of  the  mind  of  ani- 
mals. The  latter  never  become  men,  while  chil- 
dren do.  The  animals  represent  in  some  few 


56  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

respects  a  branch  of  the  tree  of  growth  in  ad- 
vance of  man,  while  being  in  many  other  respects 
very  far  behind  him.  In  studying  animals  we  are 
always  haunted  by  the  fear  that  the  analogy  from 
him  to  man  may  not  hold ;  that  some  element 
essential  to  the  development  of  the  human  mind 
may  not  be  in  the  animal  at  all.  Even  in  such  a 
question  as  the  localization  of  the  functions  of 
the  brain  described  later  on,  where  the  analogy 
is  one  of  comparative  anatomy  and  only  second- 
arily of  psychology,  the  monkey  presents  analo- 
gies with  man  which  dogs  do  not.  But  in  the 
study  of  children  we  may  be  always  sure  that  a 
normal  child  has  in  him  the  promise  of  a  normal 
man. 

3.  Again,  in  the  study  of  the  child's  mind  we 
have  the  added   advantage   of   a   corresponding 
simplicity  on  the  bodily  side;  we  are  able  to  take 
account  of  the  physiological  processes  at  a  time 
when  they  are  relatively  simple — that  is,  before 
the  nervous  system  has  grown  to  maturity.     For 
example,   psychology  used  to  hold  that  we  have 
a  "speech  faculty, "an  inborn  mental  endowment 
which  is  incapable  of  further  analysis;  but  sup- 
port for  the  position  is  wanting  when  we  turn  to 
the  brain  of  the  infant.     Not  only  do  we  fail  to 
find  the  series  of  centres  now  known  to  be  the 
"  speech  zone,"  but  even  those  of  them  which  we 
do  find  have  not  yet  taken  up  this  function,  either 
alone  or  together.     In  other  words,  the  primary 
object  of  each  of  the  various  centres  involved  is 
not  speech,  but  some  other  and  simpler  function  ; 
and  speech  arises  by  development  from  a  union  of 
these  separate  functions. 

4.  In  observing  young  children,  a  more  direct 
application  of  experiment  is  possible.     By  "ex- 


THE   MIND   OP  THE   CHILD.  57 

periment "  here  I  mean  both  experiment  on  the 
senses  and  also  experiment  directly  on  conscious- 
ness by  suggestion,  social  influence,  etc.  In  ex- 
perimenting on  adults,  great  difficulties  arise 
through  the  fact  that  reactions — such  as  per- 
forming a  voluntary  movement  when  a  signal  is 
heard,  etc. — are  complicated  by  deliberation,  habit, 
custom,  choice,  etc.  The  subject  hears  a  sound, 
identifies  it,  and  presses  a  button — if  he  choose 
and  agree  to  do  so.  What  goes  on  in  this  inter- 
val between  the  advent  of  the  incoming  nerve 
process  and  the  discharge  of  the  outgoing  nerve 
process  ?  Something,  at  any  rate,  which  repre- 
sents a  brain  process  of  great  complexity.  Now, 
anything  that  fixes' or  simplifies  the  brain  process, 
in  so  far  gives  greater  certainty  to  the  results. 
For  this  reason  experiments  on  reflex  actions  are 
valuable  and  decisive  where  similar  experiments 
on  voluntary  actions  are  uncertain  and  of  doubt- 
ful value.  Now*  the  child's  mind  is  relatively  sim- 
ple, and  so  offers  a  field  for  more  fruitful  experi- 
ment ;  this  is  seen  in  the  reactions  of  the  infant 
to  strong  stimuli,  such  as  bright  colours,  etc.,  as 
related  further  on. 

With  this  inadequate  review  of  the  advantages 
of  infant  psychology,  it  is  well  also  to  point  out 
the  dangers  of  the  abuse  of  it.  Such  dangers  are 
real.  The  very  simplicity  which  seems  to  char- 
acterize the  life  of  the  child  is  often  extremely 
misleading,  and  this  because  the  simplicity  in 
question  is  sometimes  ambiguous.  Two  actions 
of  the  child  may  appear  equally  simple ;  but  one 
may  be  an  adaptive  action,  learned  with  great 
pains  and  really  very  complex,  while  the  other 
may  be  inadaptive  and  really  simple.  Children 


58  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

differ  under  the  law  of  heredity  very  remarkably, 
even  in  the  simplest  manifestations  of  their  con- 
scious lives.  It  is  never  safe  to  say  without  quali- 
fication :  "This  child  did,  consequently  all  chil- 
dren must."  The  most  we  can  usually  say  in 
observing  single  children  is :  "  This  child  did, 
consequently  another  child  may." 

Speaking  more  positively,  the  following  re- 
marks may  be  useful  to  those  who  have  a  mind 
to  observe  children: 

1.  In  the  first  place,  we  can   fix  no  absolute 
time  in  the  history  of  the  child  at  which  a  certain 
mental  process  takes  its  rise.     The  observations, 
now  quite  extensively  recorded,  and   sometimes 
quoted    as   showing   that   the    first   year,  or   the 
second  year,  etc.,  brings  such  and  such  develop- 
ments, tend,  on  the  contrary,  to  show  that  such 
divisions  do  not  hold  in  any  strict  sense.     Like 
any  other   organic  growth,  the    nervous   system 
may  develop  faster  under  more  favourable  con- 
ditions,  or  more  slowly   under   less   favourable; 
and  the  growth  of  the  mind  is  largely  dependent 
upon  the  growth   of  the  brain.     Only  in  broad 
outline    and   within   very  wide    limits    can    such 
periods  be  marked  off  at  all. 

2.  The  possibility  of  the  occurrence  of  a  men- 
tal state  at  a  particular  time  must  be  distinguished 
from  its  necessity.      The  occurrence  of  a  single 
clearly  observed  fact  is  decisive  only  against  the 
theory  according  to  which  its  occurrence  under 
the  given  conditions  may  not  occur.     For  exam- 
ple, the  very  early  adaptive   movements  of   the 
infant  in  receiving  its  food  can  not  be  due  to  in- 
telligence and  will ;  but  the  case  is  still  open  as 
to  the  question  what  is  the  reason  of  their  pres- 
ence— i.  e.,  how   much   nervous    development    is 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   CHILD.  59 

present,  how  much  experience  is  necessary,  etc. 
It  is  well  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  one  case  may 
be  decisive  in  overthrowing  a  theory,  but  the  con- 
ditions are  seldom  simple  enough  to  make  one 
case  decisive  in  establishing  a  theory. 

3.  It  follows,  however,  from  the  principle  of 
growth  itself  that  the  order  of  development  of 
the  main  mental  functions  is  constant,  and  nor- 
mally free  from  great  variations;    consequently, 
the   most    fruitful   observations   of   children    are 
those  which  show  that  such  an  act  was  present 
before   another.     The   complexity  becomes  finally 
so  remarkable  that  there  seems  to  be  no  before 
or  after  at  all  in  mental  things;  but  if  the  child's 
growth  shows  a  stage  in   which    any  process  is 
clearly  absent,  we  have  at  once  light  upon  the 
laws  of  growth.     For  instance :    if  a  single  case 
is  conclusively  established  of  a  child's  drawing 
an  inference    before  it  begins   to    use   words   or 
significant  vocal  sounds,  the  one  case  is  as  good 
as  a  thousand  to  showfthat  thought  may  develop 
in    some   degree    independently    of   spoken    lan- 
guage. 

4.  While  the  most  direct  results  are  acquired 
by  systematic  experiments  with  a  given  point  in 
view,  still   general  observations  carefully  record- 
ed by  competent  persons,  are  important  for  the 
interpretation  which  a  great  many  such  records 
may  afford  in  the  end.     In  the  multitude  of  ex- 
periences here,  as  everywhere,  there  is  strength. 
Such  observations  should  cover  everything  about 
the  child — his  movements,  cries,  impulses,  sleep, 
dreams,  personal  preferences,  muscular  efforts,  at- 
tempts  at    expression,  games,  favourites,    etc. — 
and  should  be  recorded  in  a  regular  daybook  at 
the  time  of  occurrence.     What  is  important  and 


60  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

what  is  not,  is,  as  I  have  said,  something  to  be 
learned;  and  it  is  extremely  desirable  that  any 
one  contemplating  such  observations  should  ac- 
quaint himself  beforehand  with  the  principles  of 
general  psychology  and  physiology,  and  should 
seek  also  the  practical  advice  of  a  trained  ob- 
server. 

As  yet  many  of  the  observations  which  we 
have  in  this  field  were  made  by  the  average 
mother,  who  knows  less  about  the  human  body 
than  she  does  about  the  moon  or  the  wild  flow- 
ers, or  by  the  average  father,  who  sees  his  child 
for  an  hour  a  day,  when  the  boy  is  dressed  up, 
and  who  has  never  slept  in  the  same  room  with 
him — let  alone  the  same  bed! — in  his  life;  by 
people  who  have  never  heard  the  distinction  be- 
tween reflex  and  voluntary  action,  or  that  between 
nervous  adaptation  and  conscious  choice.  The 
difference  between  the  average  mother  and  the 
good  psychologist  is  this  :  she  has  no  theories,  he 
has;  he  has  no  interests,  she  has.  She  may  bring 
up  a  family  of  a  dozen  and  not  be  able  to  make  a 
single  trustworthy  observation ;  he  may  be  able, 
from  one  sound  of  one  yearling,  to  confirm  theo- 
ries of  the  neurologist  and  educator,  which  are 
momentous  for  the  future  training  and  welfare  of 
the  child. 

As  for  experimenting  with  children,  only  the 
psychologist  should  undertake  it.  The  connec- 
tions between  the  body  and  the  mind  are  so  close 
in  infancy,  the  mere  animal  can  do  so  much  to 
ape  reason,  and  the  child  is  so  helpless  under  the 
leading  of  instinct,  impulse,  and  external  neces- 
sity, that  the  task  is  excessively  difficult — to  say 
nothing  of  the  extreme  delicacy  and  tenderness 
of  the  budding  tendrils  of  the  mind.  But  others 


THE   MIND  OF  THE   CHILD.  6 1 

do  experiment !  Every  time  we  send  a  child  out 
of  the  home  to  the  school,  we  subject  him  to  ex- 
periment of  the  most  serious  and  alarming  kind. 
He  goes  into  the  hands  of  a  teacher  who  is  often 
not  only  not  wise  unto  the  child's  salvation,  but 
who  is,  perchance,  a  machine  for  administering  a 
single  experiment  to  an  infinite  variety  of  chil- 
dren. It  is  perfectly  certain  that  a  great  many 
of  our  children  are  irretrievably  damaged  or  hin- 
dered in  their  mental  and  moral  development  in 
the  school ;  but  we  can  not  be  at  all  sure  that 
they  would  fare  any  better  if  they  were  taught 
at  home  !  The  children  are  experimented  with  so 
much  and  so  unwisely,  in  any  case,  that  possibly 
a  little  intentional  experiment,  guided  by  real  in- 
sight and  psychological  information,  would  do 
them  good. 

Methods  of  experimenting  with  Children. — In 
endeavouring  to  bring  such  questions  as  the 
degree  of  memory,  recognition,  association,  etc., 
present  in  an  infant,  to  a  practical  test,  consider- 
able embarrassment  has  always  been  experienced 
in  understanding  the  child's  vocal  and  other  re- 
sponses. Of  course,  the  only  way  a  child's  mind 
can  be  studied  is  through  its  expressions,  facial, 
lingual,  vocal,  muscular;  and  the  first  question — 
i.  e.,  What  did  the  infant  do  ?  must  be  followed 
by  a  second — i.  e.,  What  did  his  doing  that  mean  ? 
The  second  question  is,  as  I  have  said,  the 
harder  question,  and  the  one  which  requires  more 
knowledge  and  insight.  It  is  evident,  on  the  sur- 
face, that  the  further  away  we  get  in  the  child's 
life  from  simple  inherited  or  reflex  responses, 
the  more  complicated  do  the  processes  become, 
and  the  greater  becomes  the  difficulty  of  an- 
alyzing them,  and  arriving  at  a  true  picture  of 


62  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

the  real  mental  condition  which  lies  back  of 
them. 

To  illustrate  this  confusion,  I  may  cite  one  of 
the  few  problems  which  psychologists  have  at- 
tempted to  solve  by  experiments  on  children : 
the  determination  of  the  order  of  rise  of  the 
child's  perceptions  of  the  different  colours.  The 
first  series  of  experiments  consisted  in  showing 
the  child  various  colours  and  requiring  him  to 
name  them,  the  results  being  expressed  in  per- 
centages of  correct  answers  to  the  whole  number. 
Now  this  experiment  involves  no  less  than  four 
different  questions,  and  the  results  give  abso- 
lutely no  clew  to  their  separation.  It  involves: 
i.  The  child's  distinguishing  different  colours  dis- 
played simultaneously  before  it,  together  with  the 
complete  development  of  the  eyes  for  colour  sen- 
sation. 2.  The  child's  ability  to  recognise  or  iden- 
tify a  colour  after  having  seen  it  once.  3.  An  as- 
sociation between  the  child's  colour  seeing  and 
word  hearing  and  speaking  memories,  by  which 
the  proper  name  for  the  colours  is  brought  up  in 
his  mind.  4.  Equally  ready  facility  in  the  pro- 
nunciation of  the  various  names  of  the  colours 
which  he  recognises;  and  there  is  the  further  em- 
barrassment, that  any  such  process  which  involves 
association  of  ideas,  is  as  varied  as  the  lives  of 
children.  The  single  fact  that  speech  is  acquired 
long  after  objects  and  some  colours  are  distin- 
guished, shows  that  results  reached  by  this  method 
have  very  little  value  as  far  as  the  problem  of  the 
first  perception  of  colours  is  concerned. 

That  the  fourth  element  pointed  out  above  is 
a  real  source  of  confusion  is  shown  by  the  fact 
that  children  recognise  many  words  which  they 
can  not  readily  pronounce.  When  this  was  real- 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   CHILD.  63 

ized,  a  second  phase  in  the  development  of  the 
problem  arose.  A  colour  was  named,  and  then 
the  child  was  required  to  pick  out  that  colour. 
This  gave  results  different  from  those  reached  by 
the  first  method,  blue  and  red  leading  the  list  in 
correct  answers  by  the  first  method,  while  by  this 
second  method  yellow  led,  and  blue  came  near 
the  end  of  the  list. 

The  further  objection  that  colours  might  be 
distinguished  before  the  word  names  are  learned, 
or  that  colour  words  might  be  interchanged  or 
confused  by  the  child,  gave  rise  to  what  we  may 
call  the  third  stage  in  the  statement  of  the  prob- 
lem. The  method  of  "  recognition "  took  the 
place  of  the  method  of  "naming."  This  con- 
sisted in  showing  to  a  child  a  coloured  disk,  with- 
out naming  it,  and  then  asking  him  to  pick  out 
the  same  colour  from  a  number  of  coloured 
disks. 

This  reduces  the  question  to  the  second  of  the 
four  I  have  named  above.  It  is  the  usual  method 
of  testing  for  colour  blindness,  in  which,  from 
defects  of  vision,  certain  colours  can  not  be  per- 
ceived at  all.  It  answers  very  well  for  colour 
blindness ;  for  what  we  really  want  to  learn  in 
the  case  of  a  sailor  or  a  signal-man  is  whether  he 
can  recognise  a  given  signal  when  it  is  repeated ; 
that  is,  does  he  know  green  or  red  to  be  the  same 
as  his  former  experience  of  green  or  red  ?  But  it 
is  evident  that  there  is  still  a  more  fundamental 
question  in  the  matter — the  real  question  of  col- 
our perception.  It  is  quite  possible  that  a  child 
might  not  recognise  an  isolated  colour  when  he 
could  really  very  well  distinguish  the  colours 
lying  side  by  side.  The  last  question,  then,  is 
this:  When  does  the  child  get  the  different  col- 
6 


64  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

our  Sensations  (not  recognitions),  and  in  what 
order  ? 

To  solve  this  question  it  would  seem  that  ex- 
periments should  be  made  upon  younger  children. 
The  results  described  above  were  all  secured 
after  the  children  had  made  considerable  prog- 
ress in  learning  to  speak. 

To  meet  this  requirement  another  method 
may  be  used  which  can  be  applied  to  children 
less  than  a  year  old.  The  colours  are  shown,  and 
the  child  led  to  grasp  after  them.  This  method 
is  of  such  a  character  as  to  yield  a  series  of  ex- 
periments whose  results  are  in  terms  of  the  most 
fundamental  movements  of  the  infant;  it  can  be 
easily  and  pleasantly  conducted  ;  and  it  is  of  wide 
application.  The  child's  hand  movements  are 
nearly  ideal  in  this  respect.  The  hand  reflects 
the  child's  first  feelings,  and  becomes  the  most 
mobile  organ  of  his  volition,  except  his  organs 
of  speech.  We  find  spontaneous  arm  and  hand 
movements,  reflex  movements,  reaching-out  move- 
ments, grasping  movements,  imitative  movements, 
manipulating  movements,  and  voluntary  efforts — 
all  these,  in  order,  reflecting  the  development  of 
the  mind. 

To  illustrate  this  method,  I  may  cite  certain 
results  reached  by  myself  on  the  questions  of  col- 
our and  distance  perception,  and  right-handedness 
in  the  child. 

Distance  and  Colour  Perception. — I  undertook 
at  the  beginning  of  my  child  H.'s  ninth  month  to 
experiment  with  her  with  a  view  to  arriving  at 
the  exact  state  of  her  colour  perception,  and  also 
to  investigate  her  sense  of  distance.  The  arrange- 
ments consisted  in  this  instance  in  giving  the  in- 
fant a  comfortable  sitting  posture,  kept  constant 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   CHILD.  65 

by  a  band  passing  around  her  chest  and  fastened 
securely  to  the  back  of  her  chair.  Her  arms 
were  left  bare  and  quite  free  in  their  movements. 
Pieces  of  paper  of  different  colours  were  exposed 
before  her,  at  varying  distances,  front,  right,  and 
left.  This  was  regulated  by  a  framework,  con- 
sisting of  a  horizontal  rod  graded  in  inches,  pro- 
jecting from  the  back  of  the  chair  at  a  level  with 
her  shoulder  and  parallel  with  her  arm  when  ex- 
tended straight  forward,  and  carrying  on  it  an- 
other rod,  also  graded  in  inches,  at  right  angles 
to  the  first.  This  second  rod  was  thus  a  horizon- 
tal line  directly  in  front  of  the  child,  parallel  with 
a  line  connecting  her  shoulders,  and  so  equally 
distant  for  both  hands.  This  second  rod  was 
made  to  slide  upon  the  first,  so  as  to  be  adjusted 
at  any  desired  distance  from  the  child.  On  this 
second  rod  the  colours,  etc.,  were  placed  in  suc- 
cession, the  object  being  to  excite  the  child  to 
reach  for  them.  So  far  from  being  distasteful 
to  the  infant,  I  found  that,  with  pleasant  sugges- 
tions thrown  about  the  experiments,  the  whole 
procedure  gave  her  much  gratification,  and  the 
affair  became  one  of  her  pleasant  daily  occupa- 
tions. After  each  sitting  she  was  given  a  reward 
of  some  kind.  I  give  the  results,  both  for  colour 
and  distance,  of  217  experiments.  Of  these  in 
were  with  five  colours  and  106  with  ordinary  news- 
paper (chosen  as  a  relatively  neutral  object,  which 
would  have  no  colour  value  and  no  association, 
to  the  infant). 

Colour. — The  colours  range  themselves  in  the 
order  of  attractiveness — blue,  red,  white,  green, 
and  brown.  Disregarding  white,  the  difference 
between  blue  and  red  is  very  slight,  compared 
with  that  between  any  other  two.  This  confirms 


66  THE   STORY   OF  THE    MIND. 

the  results  of  the  second  method  described  above. 
Brown,  to  my  child — as  tested  in  this  way — seemed 
to  be  about  as  neutral  as  could  well  be.  A  simi- 
lar distaste  for  brown  has  been  noticed  by  others. 
White,  on  the  other  hand,  was  more  attractive 
than  green.  I  am  sorry  that  my  list  did  not  in- 
clude yellow.  The  newspaper  was,  at  reaching 
distance  (9  to  10  inches)  and  a  little  more  (up  to 
14  inches),  as  attractive  as  the  average  of  the 
colours,  and  even  as  much  so  as  the  red ;  but 
this  is  probably  due  to  the  fact  that  the  newspa- 
per experiments  came  after  a  good  deal  of  prac- 
tice in  reaching  after  colours,  and  a  more  exact 
association  between  the  stimulus  and  its  distance. 
At  15  inches  and  over,  the  newspaper  was  refused 
in  93  per  cent  of  the  cases,  while  blue  was  re- 
fused at  that  distance  in  only  75  per  cent,  and 
red  in  83  per  cent. 

Distance. — In  regard  to  the  question  of  dis- 
tance, the  child  persistently  refused  to  reach  for 
anything  put  16  inches  or  more  away  from  her. 
At  15  inches  she  refused  91  per  cent  of  all  the 
cases,  90  per  cent  of  the  colour  cases,  and,  as  I 
have  said,  93  per  cent  of  the  newspaper  cases. 
At  nearer  distances  we  find  the  remarkable  uni- 
formity with  which  the  safe-distance  association 
works  at  this  early  age.  At  14  inches  only  14 
per  cent  of  all  the  cases  were  refused,  and  at  13 
inches  only  about  7  per  cent.  There  was  a  larger 
percentage  of  refusals  at  n  and  12  inches  than 
at  13  and  14  inches,  a  result  due  to  the  influence 
of  the  brown,  which  was  refused  consistently 
when  more  than  10  inches  away.  The  fact  that 
there  were  no  refusals  to  reach  for  anything  ex- 
posed within  reaching  distance  (10  inches) — other 
attractive  objects  being  kept  away — shows  two 


THE   MIND   OF   THE   CHILD.  67 

things:  (i)  the  very  fine  estimation  visually  of 
the  distance  represented  by  the  arm-length ;  and 
(2)  the  great  uniformity  at  this  age  of  the 
phenomenon  of  Motor  Suggestion  upon  which 
this  method  of  child  study  is  based,  and  which 
is  referred  to  again  below.  In  respect  to  the 
first  point,  it  will  be  remembered  that  the  child 
does  not  begin  to  reach  for  anything  that  it 
sees  until  about  the  fourth  or  sixth  week  ;  so 
it  is  evident  at  what  a  remarkably  fast  rate 
those  obscure  factors  of  size,  perspective,  light 
and  shade,  etc.,  which  signify  distance  to  the 
eye,  become  associated  with  arm  movements  of 
reaching.  This  method,  applied  with  proper  pre- 
cautions, obviates  many  of  the  difficulties  of  the 
others.  There  are  certain  requirements  of  proper 
procedure,  however,  which  should  never  be  neg- 
lected by  any  one  who  experiments  with  young 
children. 

In  the  first  place,  the  child  is  peculiarly 
susceptible  to  the  appeals  of  change,  novelty, 
chance,  or  happy  suggestion  ;  and  often  the  fail- 
ure to  respond  to  a  stimulus  is  due  to  distraction 
or  to  discomfort  rather  than  to  lack  of  intrinsic 
interest.  Again,  fatigue  is  a  matter  of  consider- 
able importance.  In  respect  to  fatigue,  I  should 
say  that  the  first  signs  of  restlessness,  or  arbi- 
trary loss  of  interest,  in  a  series  of  stimulations, 
is  sufficient  warning,  and  all  attempts  at  further 
experimenting  should  cease.  Often  the  child  is 
in  a  state  of  indisposition,  of  trifling  nervous  irri- 
tability, etc. ;  this  should  be  detected  beforehand, 
and  then  nothing  should  be  undertaken.  No  se- 
ries longer  than  three  trials  should  be  attempted 
without  changing  the  child's  position,  resting  its 
attention  with  a  song,  or  a  game,  etc.,  and  thus 


68  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

leading  it  fresh  to  its  task  again.  Furthermore, 
no  single  stimulus,  as  a  colour,  should  be  twice 
repeated  without  a  change  to  some  other,  since 
the  child's  eagerness  or  alertness  is  somewhat 
satisfied  by  the  first  effort,  and  a  new  thing  is 
necessary  to  bring  him  out  to  full  exercise  again. 
After  each  effort  or  two  the  child  should  be  given 
the  object  reached  for  to  hold  or  play  with  for  a 
moment ;  otherwise  he  grows  to  apprehend  that 
the  whole  affair  is  a  case  of  "Tantalus."  In  all 
these  matters  very  much  depends  upon  the 
knowledge  and  care  of  the  experimenter,  and  his 
ability  to  keep  the  child  in  a  normal  condition  of 
pleasurable  muscular  exercise  throughout. 

In  performing  colour  experiments,  several  re- 
quirements would  appear  to  be  necessary  for  ex- 
act results.  Should  not  the  colours  chosen  be 
equal  in  purity,  intensity,  lustre,  illumination, 
etc.?  In  reference  to  these  differences,  I  think 
only  that  degree  of  care  need  be  exercised  which 
good  comparative  judgment  provides.  Colours 
of  about  equal  objective  intensity,  of  no  gloss,  of 
relatively  evident  spectral  purity,  under  constant 
illumination — this  is  all  that  is  required.  The 
variations  due  to  the  grosser  factors  I  have  men- 
tioned— such  as  condition  of  attention,  physical 
unrest,  disturbing  noises,  sights,  etc. — are  of 
greater  influence  than  any  of  these  more  recon- 
dite variations  in  the  stimulus.  Intensity  and 
lustre,  however,  are  certainly  important.  It  is 
possible,  by  carefully  choosing  a  room  of  pretty 
constant  daylight  illumination,  and  setting  the 
experiments  at  the  same  hour  each  day,  to  se- 
cure a  regular  degree  of  brightness  if  the  colours 
themselves  are  equally  bright;  and  lustre  may  be 
ruled  out  by  using  coloured  wools  or  blotting- 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   CHILD.  69 

papers.  The  papers  used  in  the  experiments 
given  above  were  coloured  blotting-papers.  The 
omission  of  yellow  is  due  to  the  absence,  in  the 
neighbourhood,  of  a  satisfactory  yellow  paper. 

The  method  now  described  may  be  further 
illustrated  by  the  following  experiments  on  the 
use  of  the  hands  by  the  young  child. 

The  Origin  of  Right-handedness. — The  question, 
"Why  are  we  right-  or  left-handed  ?"  has  exer- 
cised the  speculative  ingenuity  of  many  men.  It 
has  come  to  the  front  anew  in  recent  years,  in 
view  of  the  advances  made  in  the  general  physi- 
ology of  the  nervous  system;  and  certainly  we 
are  now  in  a  better  position  to  set  the  problem 
intelligently  and  to  hope  for  its  solution.  Hith- 
erto the  actual  conditions  of  the  rise  of  "  dex- 
trality  "  in  young  children — as  the  general  fact  of 
uneven-handedness  may  be  called — have  not 
been  closely  observed.  It  was  to  gain  light, 
therefore,  upon  the  facts  themselves  that  the  ex- 
periments described  in  the  following  pages  were 
carried  out. 

My  child  H.  was  placed  in  a  comfortable  sit- 
ting posture,  the  arms  left  bare  and  free  in  their 
movement,  and  allowed  to  reach  for  objects 
placed  before  her  in  positions  exactly  determined 
and  recorded  by  the  simple  arrangement  of 
sliding  rods  already  described.  The  experiments 
took  place  at  the  same  hour  daily,  for  a  period 
extending  from  her  fourth  to  her  tenth  month. 
These  experiments  were  planned  with  very  great 
care  and  with  especial  view  to  the  testing  of  sev- 
eral hypotheses  which,  although  superficial  to 
those  who  have  studied  physiology,  yet  constant- 
ly recur  in  publications  on  this  subject.  Among 
these  theories  certain  may  be  mentioned  with  re- 


70  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

gard  to  which  my  experiments  were  conclusive. 
It  has  frequently  been  held  that  a  child's  right- 
handedness  arises  from  the  nurse's  or  mother's 
constant  method  of  carrying  it,  the  child's  hand 
which  is  left  free  being  more  exercised,  and  so 
becoming  stronger.  This  theory  is  ambiguous  as 
regards  both  mother  and  child.  The  mother,  if 
right-handed,  would  carry  the  child  on  the  left 
arm,  in  order  to  work  with  the  right  arm.  This  I 
find  an  invariable  tendency  with  myself  and  with 
nurses  and  mothers  whom  I  have  observed.  But 
this  would  leave  the  child's  left  arm  free,  and  so 
a  right-handed  mother  would  be  found  with  a 
left-handed  child  !  Again,  if  the  mother  or  nurse 
be  left-handed,  the  child  would  tend  to  be  right- 
handed.  Or  if,  as  is  the  case  in  civilized  coun- 
tries, nurses  largely  replace  the  mothers,  it  would 
be  necessary  that  most  of  the  nurses  be  left- 
handed  in  order  to  make  most  of  the  children 
right-handed.  Now,  none  of  these  deductions 
are  true.  Further,  the  child,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
holds  on  with  both  hands,  however  it  is  itself  held. 
Another  theory  maintains  that  the  develop- 
ment of  right-handedness  is  due  to  differences  in 
weight  of  the  two  lateral  halves  of  the  body; 
this  tends  to  bring  more  strain  on  one  side  than 
the  other,  and  to  give  more  exercise,  and  so  more 
development,  to  that  side.  This  evidently  as- 
sumes that  children  are  not  right-  or  left-handed 
before  they  learn  to  stand.  This  my  results  given 
below  show  to  be  false.  Again,  we  are  told  that 
infants  get  right-handed  by  being  placed  on  one 
side  too  much  for  sleep  ;  this  can  be  shown  to 
have  little  force  also  when  the  precaution  is  taken 
to  place  the  child  alternately  on  its  right  and  left 
sides  for  its  sleeping  periods. 


THE    MIND   OF   THE   CHILD.  71 

In  the  case  of  the  child  H.,  certain  precau- 
tions were  carefully  enforced.  She  was  never 
carried  about  in  arms  at  all,  never  walked  with 
when  crying  or  sleepless ;  she  was  frequently 
turned  over  in  her  sleep  ;  she  was  not  allowed 
to  balance  herself  on  her  feet  until  a  later  period 
than  that  covered  by  the  experiments.  Thus  the 
conditions  of  the  rise  of  the  right-handed  era 
were  made  as  simple  and  uniform  as  possible. 

The  experiments  included,  besides  reaching 
for  colours,  a  great  many  of  reaching  for  other  ob- 
jects, at  longer  and  shorter  distances,  and  in  unsym- 
metrical  directions.  I  give  some  details  of  the 
results  of  the  experiments  in  which  simple  ob- 
jects were  used,  extending  over  a  period  of  four 
months,  from  the  fifth  to  the  ninth  in  her  life. 
The  number  of  experiments  at  each  sitting  varied 
from  ten  to  forty,  the  position  of  the  child  being 
reversed  as  to  light  from  windows,  position  of 
observation,  etc.,  after  half  of  each  series. 

No  trace  of  preference  for  either  hand  was 
discernible  during  this  period;  indeed,  the  neu- 
trality was  as  complete  as  if  it  had  been  arranged 
beforehand,  or  had  followed  the  throwing  of 
dice. 

I  then  conceived  the  idea  that  possibly  a  se- 
verer distance  test  might  affect  the  result  and 
show  a  marked  preferential  response  by  one  hand 
over  the  other.  I  accordingly  continued  to  use 
a  neutral  stimulus,  but  placed  it  from  twelve  to 
fifteen  inches  away  from  the  child.  This  resulted 
in  very  hard  straining  on  her  part,  with  all  the 
signs  of  physical  effort  (explosive  breathing  sounds 
resulting  from  the  setting  of  the  larynx,  rush  of 
blood  to  the  head,  seen  in  the  flushing  of  the 
face,  etc.).  The  number  of  experiments  in  each 


72  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

series  was  intentionally  made  very  small,  from  one 
to  twelve,  in  order  to  avoid  fatigue. 

The  results  were  now  very  interesting.  During 
the  month  ending  June  i5th  the  child  showed 
no  decided  preference  for  either  hand  in  reach- 
ing straight  before  her  within  the  easy  reaching 
distance  of  ten  inches,  but  a  slight  balance  in 
favour  of  the  left  hand ;  yet  she  was  right-handed 
to  a  marked  degree  during  the  same  period  as 
regards  movements  which  required  effort  or  strain, 
such  as  grasping  for  objects  twelve  to  fifteen 
inches  distant.  For  the  greater  distances,  the 
left  hand  was  used  in  only  five  cases  as  against 
seventy-four  cases  of  the  use  of  tne  right  hand; 
and  further,  all  these  five  cases  were  twelve-inch 
distances,  the  left  hand  being  used  absolutely  not 
at  all  in  the  forty-five  cases  at  longer  distances. 

In  order  to  test  this  further,  I  varied  the  point 
of  exposure  of  the  stimulus  to  the  right  or  left, 
aiming  thus  to  attract  the  hand  on  one  side  or 
the  other,  and  so  to  determine  whether  the  growth 
or  such  a  preference  was  limited  to  experiences 
of  convenience  in  reaching  to  adjacent  local  ob- 
jects, etc. 

The  deviation  to  the  left  in  front  of  the  body 
only  called  out  the  right  hand  to  greater  exertion, 
while  the  left  hand  fell  into  still  greater  disuse. 
This  seems  to  show  that  "  dextrality  "  is  not  de- 
rived from  the  experience  of  the  individual  in 
using  either  hand  predominantly  for  reaching, 
grasping,  holding,  etc.,  within  the  easiest  range 
of  that  hand.  The  right  hand  intruded  regularly 
upon  the  domain  of  the  left. 

Proceeding  upon  the  clew  thus  obtained,  a 
clew  which  seems  to  suggest  that  the  hand  prefer- 
ence is  influenced  by  the  stimulus  to  the  eye,  I 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   CHILD.  73 

introduced  hand  observations  into  a  series  of  ex- 
periments already  mentioned  above  on  the  same 
child's  perception  of  the  different  colours;  think- 
ing that  the  colour  stimulus  which  represented 
the  strongest  inducement  to  the  child  to  reach 
might  have  the  same  effect  in  determining  the 
use  of  the  right  hand  as  the  increased  distance 
in  the  experiments  already  described.  This  in- 
ference is  proved  to  be  correct  by  the  results. 

It  should  be  added  that  in  all  cases  in  which 
both  hands  were  used  together,  each  hand  was 
called  out  with  evident  independence  of  the 
other,  both  about  the  same  time,  and  both  carried 
energetically  to  the  goal.  ,  In  many  other  cases 
in  which  either  right  or  left  hand  is  given  in  the 
results,  the  other  hand  also  moved,  but  in  a  sub- 
ordinate and  aimless  way.  There  was  a  very 
marked  difference  between  the  use  of  both  hands 
in  some  cases,  and  of  one  hand  followed  by,  or  ac- 
companied by,  the  other  in  other  cases.  It  was 
very  rare  that  the  second  hand  did  not  thus  fol- 
low or  accompany  the  first ;  and  this  was  ex- 
tremely marked  in  the  violent  reaching  for  which 
the  right  hand  was  mainly  used.  This  movement 
was  almost  invariably  accompanied  by  an  object- 
less and  fruitless  symmetrical  movement  of  the 
other  hand. 

The  results  of  the  entire  series  of  experi- 
ments on  the  use  of  the  hands  may  be  stated  as 
follows,  mainly  in  the  words  in  which  they  were 
summarily  reported  some  time  ago  : 

i.  I  found  no  continued  preference  for  either 
hand  as  long  as  there  were  no  violent  muscular 
exertions  made  (based  on  2,187  systematic  experi- 
ments in  cases  of  free  movement  of  hands  near 
the  body — i.  e.,  right  hand,  577  cases;  left  hand, 


74  THE   STORY   OF   THE    MIND. 

568  cases — a  difference  of  9  cases;  both  hands, 
1,042  cases;  the  difference  of  9  cases  being  too 
slight  to  have  any  meaning) ;  the  period  covered 
being  from  the  child's  sixth  to  her  tenth  month 
inclusive. 

2.  Under  the  same  conditions,  the  tendency  to 
use  both  hands  together  was  about  double  the 
tendency  to  use  either  (seen  from  the  number  of 
cases  of  the  use  of  both  hands  in  the  figures  given 
above). 

3.  A  distinct  preference  for  the  right  hand  in 
violent  efforts  in  reaching  became  noticeable  in 
the    seventh    and    eighth    months.      Experiments 
during  the  eighth  month  on  this  cue  gave,  in  80 
cases,  right  hand,   74  cases;  left  hand,  5  cases; 
both  hands,  i  case.     This  was  true  in  two  very 
distinct  classes  of  cases :  first,   reaching  for  ob- 
jects, neutral  as  regards  colour  (newspaper,  etc.), 
at  more  than  the  reaching  distance;  and,  second, 
reaching    for    bright    colours    at    any    distance. 
Under    the   stimulus  of    bright   colours,  from  86 
cases,  84  were  right-hand  cases  and  2   left-hand. 
Right-handedness  had  accordingly  developed  un- 
der pressure  of  muscular  effort  in  the  sixth  and 
seventh  months,  and  showed  itself  also  under  the 
influence  of  a  strong  colour  stimulus  to  the  eye. 

4.  Up  to  this  time  the  child  had  not  learned 
to  stand  or  to  creep;  hence  the  development  of 
one  hand  more  than   the  other  is  not  due  to  dif- 
ferences in  weight  between  the  two  longitudinal 
halves  of  the  body.     As  she  had  not  learned  to 
speak  or  to  utter  articulate  sounds  with  much  dis- 
tinctness, we   may  say  also    that  right-  or  left- 
handedness  may  develop  while  the  speech  centres 
are  not  yet  functioning.     Further,  the  right  hand 
is   carried   over  after   objects  on    the   left  side, 


THE   MIND   OF   THE   CHILD.  75 

showing  that  habit  in  reaching  does  not  deter- 
mine its  use. 

Theoretical. — Some  interesting  points  arise  in 
connection  with  the  interpretation  of  these  facts. 
If  it  be  true  that  the  order  of  rise  of  mental  and 
physiological  functions  is  constant,  then  for  this 
question  the  results  obtained  in  the  case  of  one 
child,  if  accurate,  would  hold  for  others  apart 
from  any  absolute  time  determination.  We  should 
expect,  therefore,  that  these  results  would  be 
confirmed  by  experiments  on  other  children,  and 
this  is  the  only  way  their  correctness  can  be 
tested. 

If,  when  tested,  they  should  be  found  correct, 
they  would  be  sufficient  answer  to  several  of 
the  theories  of  right-handedness  heretofore  urged, 
as  has  been  already  remarked.  The  rise  of  the 
phenomenon  must  be  sought,  therefore,  in  more 
deep-going  facts  of  physiology  than  such  theories 
supply.  Furthermore,  if  we  go  lower  in  the  ani- 
mal scale  than  man,  analogies  for  the  kinds  of 
experience  which  are  urged  as  reasons  for  right- 
handedness  are  not  present ;  animals  do  not  carry 
their  young,  nor  pat  them  to  sleep,  nor  do  animals 
shake  hands ! 

A  full  discussion  would  lead  us  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  dextrality  is  due  to  a  difference  in  de- 
velopment in  the  two  hemispheres  of  the  brain, 
that  these  differences  are  hereditary,  and  that  they 
show  themselves  toward  the  end  of  the  first  year. 

It  is  a  singular  circumstance  that  right-handed- 
ness and  speech  are  controlled  by  the  same  hemi- 
sphere of  the  brain  and  from  contiguous  areas. 
It  would  explain  this — and  at  the  same  time  it 
seems  probable  from  other  considerations — if  we 
found  that  right-handedness  was  first  used  for  ex- 


76  THE   STORY  OF   THE   MIND. 

pression  before  speech  ;  and  that  speech  has  arisen 
from  the  setting  aside,  for  further  development, 
of  the  area  in  the  brain  first  used  for  righthand- 
edness.  Musical  expression  has  its  seat  in  or  near 
the  same  lobe  of  the  brain. 

The  Child's  Mental  Development  in  General. — 
The  actual  development  of  the  child,  as  observa- 
tions from  many  sources  indicate  it,  may  be 
sketched  very  briefly  in  its  main  outlines.  It  is 
probable  that  the  earliest  consciousness  is  simply 
a  mass  of  touch  and  muscular  sensations  experi- 
enced in  part  before  birth.  Shortly  after  birth  the 
child  begins  to  connect  his  impressions  with  one 
another  and  to  show  Memory.  But  both  mem- 
ory and  Association  are  very  weak,  and  depend 
upon  intense  stimulations,  such  as  bright  lights, 
loud  noises,  etc.  The  things  which  most  effect  him 
at  these  early  stages  are  those  which  bring  him  into 
conditions  of  sharp  physical  pain  or  give  him  acute 
pleasure.  Yet  it  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  at  birth 
the  pain  reflex  is  wanting.  His  whole  life  up  to 
about  the  fourth  month  turns  upon  his  organic 
and  vegetative  needs.  At  three  months  the  young 
child  will  forget  his  mother  or  nurse  after  a  very 
few  days.  Attention  begins  to  arise  about  the 
end  of  the  first  quarter  year,  appearing  first  in 
response  to  bright  lights  and  loud  sounds,  and 
being  for  a  considerable  time  purely  reflex,  drawn 
here  and  there  by  the  successive  impressions 
which  the  environment  makes.  With  lights  and 
sounds,  however,  movements  also  attract  the  in- 
fant's attention  very  early ;  and  the  passage  from 
reflex  attention  to  a  sort  of  vague  interest  seems  to 
arise  first  in  connection  with  the  movements  of 
the  persons  about  him.  This  interest  goes  on  to 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   CHILD.  77 

develop  very  rapidly  in  the  second  half  year,  in 
connection  more  particularly  with  the  movements 
which  are  associated  with  the  child's  own  comfort 
and  discomfort.  The  association  of  muscular 
sensations  with  those  of  touch  and  sight  serves  to 
give  him  his  first  clear  indications  of  the  positions 
of  his  own  members  and  of  other  objects.  His 
discrimination  of  what  belongs  to  his  own  body  is 
probably  aided  by  so-called  "  double  touch  " — the 
fact  that  when  he  touches  his  own  body,  as  in 
touching  his  foot  with  the  hand,  he  has  two  sensa- 
tions, one  in  the  foot  and  the  other  in  the  hand. 
This  is  not  the  case  when  he  touches  other  objects, 
and  he  soon  learns  the  distinction,  getting  the 
outlines  of  his  own  body  marked  out  in  a  vague 
way.  The  learning  of  the  localities  on  his  body 
which  he  can  not  see,  however,  lags  far  behind. 
The  movements  of  his  limbs  in  active  exploration, 
accompanied  by  sight,  enables  him  to  build  up  his 
knowledge  of  the  world  about  him.  Learning  this 
he  soon  falls  to  "experimenting"  with  the  things 
of  space.  Thus  he  begins  to  find  out  how  things 
fit  together,  and  what  their  uses  are. 

On  the  side  of  his  movements  we  find  him  go- 
ing through  a  series  of  remarkable  adaptations  to 
his  environment.  At  the  beginning  his  move- 
ments are  largely  random  discharges,  or  reflexes 
of  an  instinctive  character,  such  as  sucking.  Yet 
in  the  first  month  he  shows  the  beginning  of 
adaptation  to  the  suggestions  of  his  daily  life,  the 
first  manifestations  of  acquired  Habit.  He  learns 
when  and  how  long  he  is  expected  to  sleep,  when 
and  how  much  to  eat;  he  very  soon  finds  out  the 
peculiar  touch  and  vocal  tones  of  this  person  or 
that,  and  acts  upon  these  distinctions.  He  gets 
to  know  the  meaning  of  his  food  bottle,  to  under- 


78  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

stand  the  routine  movements  of  persons  about 
the  room,  and  the  results  of  violations  of  their 
order.  His  hat,  wraps,  carriage,  become  in  the 
first  half  year  signals  to  him  of  the  outdoor 
excursion.  He  no  longer  bobs  his  head  about 
when  held  erect,  and  begins  to  control  his  natural 
processes.  The  remarkable  thing  about  all  these 
adaptations  is  that  they  occur  before  the  infant 
can  in  any  sense  be  said  to  have  a  Will ;  for,  as 
has  been  said,  the  fibres  of  the  brain  necessary 
to  voluntary  action— in  the  cortex  of  the  hemi- 
spheres— are  not  yet  formed. 

The  realization  of  this  extraordinary  adaptive- 
ness  of  the  very  young  child  should  save  parents 
many  an  anxious  day  and  sleepless  night.  There 
is  practically  nothing  more  easy  than  to  impress 
upon  the  child  whatever  habits  of  daily — and 
nightly ! — routine  one  wishes  to  give  him,  if  he  be 
taken  early  enough.  The  only  requirements  are 
knowledge  of  what  is  good  for  him,  and  then 
inviolable  regularity  in  everything  that  concerns 
him.  Under  this  treatment  he  will  become  as 
"obstinate"  in  being  "good"  as  the  opposite 
so-called  indulgent  or  capricious  treatment  always 
make  him  in  being  "bad."  There  is  no  reason 
whatever  that  he  should  be  walked  with  or  held, 
that  he  should  be  taken  up  when  he  cries,  that  he 
should  be  trotted  when  he  awakes,  or  that  he 
should  have  a  light  by  night.  Things  like  this 
are  simply  bad  habits  for  which  the  parents  have 
themselves  to  thank.  The  child  adapts  himself 
to  his  treatment,  and  it  is  his  treatment  that  his 
habits  reflect. 

During  the  second  half-year — sooner  or  later 
in  particular  cases — the  child  is  ready  to  begin  to 
imitate.  Imitation  is  henceforth,  for  the  follow- 


THE   MIND   OF   THE   CHILD.  79 

ing  few  years,  the  most  characteristic  thing  about 
his  action.  He  first  imitates  movements,  later 
sounds,  especially  vocal  sounds.  His  imitations 
themselves  also  show  progress,  being  at  first  what 
is  called  "  simple  imitation  "  (repeating  a  distinc- 
tion already  spoken  of  in  the  chapter  on  ani- 
mals), as  when  the  child  lies  in  bed  in  the  morn- 
ing and  repeats  the  same  sound  over  and  over 
again.  He  hears  his  own  voice  and  imitates  it. 
In  this  sort  of  imitation  he  simply  allows  his  in- 
stinct to  reproduce  what  he  hears  without  con- 
trol or  interference  from  him.  He  does  not  im- 
prove, but  goes  on  making  the  same  sounds  with 
the  same  mistakes  again  and  again.  But  a  little 
later  he  begins  what  is  called  "  persistent  imita- 
tion " — the  "  try-try-again,"  already  spoken  of — 
which  is  a  very  different  thing.  Persistent  imi- 
tation shows  unmistakably  the  presence  of  will. 
The  child  is  not  satisfied  with  simple  imitation  or 
mere  repetition,  whether  it  be  good  or  bad  in  its 
results.  He  now  sees  his  errors  and  aims  con- 
sciously to  improve.  Note  the  child's  struggles 
to  speak  a  word  right  by  imitation  of  the  pronun- 
ciation of  others.  And  he  succeeds.  He  gradu- 
ally gets  his  muscles  under  control  by  persistence 
in  his  try-try-again. 

Then  he  goes  further — about  the  beginning  of 
his  second  year,  usually.  He  gets  the  idea  that 
imitation  is  the  way  to  learn,  and  turns  all  his 
effort  into  imitations  experimentally  carried  out. 
He  is  now  ready  to  learn  most  of  the  great  pro- 
cesses of  his  later  culture.  Speech,  writing, 
this  special  accomplishment  and  that,  are  all 
learned  by  experimental  imitation. 

The  example  of  the  child's  trying  to  draw  or 
write  has  already  been  cited.  He  looks  at  the 
7 


8o  THE   STORY   OF  THE  MIND. 

copy  before  him;  sets  all  his  muscles  of  hand  and 
arm  into  massive  contraction  ;  turns  and  twists  his 
tongue,  bends  his  body,  winds  his  legs  together, 
holds  his  breath,  and  in  every  way  concentrates 
his  energies  upon  the  copying  of  the  model.  In  all 
this  he  is  experimenting. 

He  produces  a  wealth  of  movements,  from 
which,  very  gradually,  as  he  tries  and  tries  again, 
the  proper  ones  are  selected  out.  These  he 
practises,  and  lets  the  superfluous  ones  fall  away, 
until  he  secures  the  requisite  control  over  hand 
and  arm.  Or  suppose  a  child  endeavouring,  in  the 
crudest  fashion,  to  put  a  rubber  on  the  end  of  a 
pencil,  after  seeing  some  one  else  do  it — just  the 
sort  of  thing  a  year-old  child  loves  to  imitate. 
What  a  chaos  of  ineffective  movements !  But  with 
repeated  effort  he  gets  nearer  and  nearer  to  it, 
and  finally  succeeds. 

On  the  side  of  action,  two  general  principles 
have  been  formulated  in  child  psychology,  both 
illustrated  in  the  cases  and  experiments  now 
given :  The  one,  Motor  Suggestion,  is,  as  we  saw, 
a  principle  of  general  psychology.  Its  impor- 
tance to  the  child  is  that  by  it  he  forms  Habits, 
useful  responses  to  his  environment,  and  so  saves 
himself  many  sad  blunders.  The  other  principle 
is  that  of  Imitation;  by  it  the  child  learns  new 
things  directly  in  the  teeth  of  his  habits.  By  exer- 
cising in  an  excessive  way  what  he  has  already 
learned  through  his  experimental  imitations,  he  is 
continually  modifying  his  habits  and  making  new 
adaptations.  These  two  principles  dominate  the 
active  life  of  the  adult  man  as  well. 

Personality  Suggestion. — A  further  set  of  facts 
may  be  cited  to  illustrate  the  working  of  Sug- 
gestion, now  in  the  sphere  of  the  receptive  life. 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   CHILD.  8l 

They  are  important  as  showing  the  child's  progress 
in  learning  the  great  features  of  personality. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  tendencies  of  the 
very  young  child  in  its  responses  to  its  environ- 
ment is  the  tendency  to  recognise  differences  of 
personality.  It  responds  to  what  have  been  called 
Suggestions  of  Personality.  As  early  as  the  sec- 
ond month  it  distinguishes  its  mother's  or  nurse's 
touch  in  the  dark.  It  learns  characteristic  meth- 
ods of  holding,  taking  up,  patting,  kissing,  etc., 
and  adapts  itself,  by  a  marvellous  accuracy  of  pro- 
testation or  acquiescence,  to  these  personal  varia- 
tions. Its  associations  of  personality  come  to  be 
of  such  importance  that  for  a  long  time  its  happi- 
ness or  misery  depends  upon  the  presence  of  cer- 
tain kinds  of  "  personality  suggestion."  It  is  quite 
a  different  thing  from  the  child's  behavior  toward 
things  which  are  not  persons.  Things  conie  to 
be,  with  some  few  exceptions  which  are  involved 
in  the  direct  gratification  of  appetite,  more  and 
more  unimportant ;  things  may  be  subordinated  to 
regular  treatment  or  reaction.  But  persons  be- 
come constantly  more  important,  as  uncertain 
and  dominating  agents  of  pleasure  and  pain.  The 
sight  of  movement  by  persons,  with  its  effects  on 
the  infant,  seems  to  be  the  most  important  factor 
in  this  peculiar  influence ;  later  the  voice  comes  to 
stand  for  a  person's  presence,  and  at  last  the  face 
and  its  expressions  equal  the  person  in  all  his 
attributes. 

I  think  this  distinction  between  persons  and 
things,  between  agencies  and  objects,  is  the  child's 
very  first  step  toward  a  sense  of  personality.  The 
sense  of  uncertainty  or  lack  of  confidence  grows 
stronger  and  stronger  in  his  dealings  with  per- 
sons— an  uncertainty  aroused  by  the  moods,  emo- 


82  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

tions,  changes  of.  expression,  and  shades  of  treat- 
ment of  the  persons  around  it.  A  person  stands 
for  a  group  of  quite  unstable  experiences.  This 
period  we  may,  for  brevity  of  expression,  assuming 
it  to  be  first  in  order  of  development,  call  the 
"projective"  stage  in  the  growth  of  the  child's 
personal  consciousness. 

It  is  from  this  beginning  that  the  child  goes 
on  to  become  fully  conscious  of  what  persons  are. 
And  when  we  observe  his  actions  more  closely  we 
find  no  less  than  four  steps  in  his  growth,  which, 
on  account  of  the  importance  of  the  topic,  may 
be  stated  in  some  little  detail. 

i.  The  first  thing  of  significance  to  him,  as  has 
been  said,  is  movement.  The  first  attempts  of 
the  infant  at  anything  like  steady  attention  are 
directed  to  moving  things — a  swaying  curtain,  a 
moving  light,  a  stroking  touch,  etc.  And  further 
than  this,  the  moving  things  soon  become  more 
than  objects  of  curiosity;  these  things  are  just 
the  things  that  affect  him  with  pleasure  or  pain. 
It  is  movement  that  brings  him  his  bottle,  move- 
ment that  regulates  the  stages  of  his  bath,  move- 
ment that  dresses  him  comfortably,  movement 
that  sings  to  him  and  rocks  him  to  sleep.  In  that 
complex  of  sensations,  the  nurse,  the  feature  of 
importance  to  him,  of  immediate  satisfaction  or 
redemption  from  pain,  is  this — movements  come 
to  succour  him.  Change  in  his  bodily  feeling  is 
the  vital  requirement  of  his  life,  for  by  it  the 
rhythm  of  his  vegetative  existence  is  secured; 
and  these  things  are  accompanied  and  secured 
always  in  the  moving  presence  of  the  one  he  sees 
and  feels  about  him.  This,  I  take  it,  is  the  earli- 
est reflection  in  his  consciousness  of  the  world  of 
personalities  about  him.  At  this  stage  his  "per- 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   CHILD.  83 

sonality  suggestion "  is  a  pain-movement-pleasure 
state  of  mind ;  to  this  he  reacts  with  a  smile,  and 
a  crow,  and  a  kick.  Undoubtedly  this  association 
gets  some  of  its  value  from  the  other  similar  one 
in  which  the  movements  are  the  infant's  own.  It 
is  by  movements  that  he  gets  rid  of  pains  and 
secures  pleasures. 

Many  facts  tend  to  bear  out  this  position. 
My  child  cried  in  the  dark  when  I  handled  her, 
although  I  imitated  the  nurse's  movements  as 
closely  as  possible.  She  tolerated  a  strange  pres- 
ence so  long  as  it  remained  quietly  in  its  place; 
but  let  it  move,  and  especially  let  it  usurp  any  of 
the  pieces  of  movement-business  of  the  nurse  or 
mother,  and  her  protests  were  emphatic.  The 
movements  tended  to  bring  the  strange  elements 
of  a  new  face  into  the  vital  association,  pain- 
movement-pleasure,  and  so  to  disturb  its  familiar 
course;  this  constituted  it  a  strange  "person- 
ality." 

It  is  astonishing,  also,  what  new  accidental 
elements  may  become  parts  of  this  association. 
Part  of  a  movement,  a  gesture,  a  peculiar  habit 
of  the  nurse,  may  become  sufficient  to  give  as- 
surance of  the  welcome  presence  and  the  pleas- 
ures which  the  presence  brings.  Two  notes  of 
my  song  in  the  night  stood  for  my  presence 
to  H.,  and  no  song  from  any  one  else  could  re- 
place it.  A  lighted  match  stopped  the  crying 
of  E.  for  food  in  her  fourteenth  week,  although 
it  was  but  a  signal  for  a  process  of  food  prepara- 
tion lasting  several  minutes;  and  a  simple  light 
never  stopped  her  crying  under  any  other  circum- 
stances. 

2.  With  this  first  start  in  the  sense  of  person- 
ality we  find  also  the  beginning  of  the  recognition 


»4  THE   STORY   OF   THE    MIND. 

of  different  personalities.  It  is  evident  that  the 
sense  of  another's  presence  thus  felt  in  the  infant's 
consciousness  rests,  as  all  associations  rest,  upon 
regularity  or  repetition  ;  his  sense  of  expectancy 
is  aroused  whenever  the  chain  of  events  is  started. 
This  is  soon  embodied  largely  in  two  indications: 
the  face  and  the  voice.  But  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
this  is  a  very  meagre  sense  of  personality;  a 
moving  machine  which  brought  pain  and  allevi- 
ated suffering  might  serve  as  well.  So  the  child 
begins  to  learn,  in  addition,  the  fact  that  persons 
are  in  a  measure  individual  in  their  treatment  of 
him;  that  their  individuality  has  elements  of  un- 
certainty or  irregularity  about  it.  This  growing 
sense  is  very  clear  to  one  who  watches  an  infant  in 
its  second  half  year.  Sometimes  its  mother  gives  it 
a  biscuit,  but  sometimes  she  does  not.  Sometimes 
the  father  smiles  and  tosses  the  child;  sometimes 
he  does  not.  Even  the  indulgence  of  the  grand- 
mother has  its  times  and  seasons.  The  child 
looks  for  signs  of  these  varying  moods  and  meth- 
ods of  treatment;  for  his  pains  of  disappointment 
arise  directly  on  the  basis  of  that  former  sense  of 
regular  personal  presence  upon  which  his  ex- 
pectancy goes  forth. 

This  new  element  of  the  child's  sense  of  per- 
sons becomes,  at  one  period  of  its  development, 
quite  the  controlling  element.  His  action  in  the 
presence  of  the  persons  of  the  household  becomes 
hesitating  and  watchful.  Especially  does  he  watch 
the  face,  for  any  expressive  indications  of  what 
treatment  is  to  be  expected;  for  facial  expression 
is  now  the  most  regular  as  well  as  the  most  deli- 
cate indication.  Special  observations  on  H.'s 
responses  to  changes  in  facial  expression  up  to 
the  age  of  twenty  months  showed  most  subtle 


THE   MIND   OF   THE   CHILD.  85 

sensibility  to  these  differences;  and  normal  chil- 
dren all  do.  Animals  are  also  very  expert  at 
this. 

All  through  the  child's  second  year,  and 
longer,  his  sense  of  the  persons  around  him  is 
in  this  stage.  The  incessant  "why?"  with  which 
he  greets  any  action  affecting  him,  or  any  in- 
formation given  him,  is  witness  to  the  simple 
puzzle  of  the  apparent  capriciousness  of  persons. 
Of  course  he  can  not  understand  "why";  so  the 
simple  fact  to  him  is  that  mamma  will  or  won't, 
he  knows  not  beforehand  which.  He  is  unable 
to  anticipate  the  treatment  in  detail,  and  he  has 
not  of  course  learned  any  principles  of  interpre- 
tation of  the  conduct  of  father  or  mother  lying 
back  of  the  details. 

But  in  all  this  period  there  is  germinating  in 
his  consciousness — and  this  very  uncertainty  is  an 
important  element  of  it— the  seed  of  a  far-reaching 
thought.  His  sense  of  persons — moving,  pleasure- 
or-pain-giving,  uncertain  but  self-directing  per- 
sons— is  now  to  become  a  sense  of  agency,  of 
power,  which  is  yet  not  the  power  of  the  regular- 
moving  door  on  its  hinges  or  the  rhythmic  swing- 
ing of  the  pendulum  of  the  clock.  The  sense  of 
personal  agency  is  now  forming,  and  it  again  is 
potent  for  still  further  development  of  the  social 
consciousness.  It  is  just  here,  I  think,  that  imi- 
tation becomes  so  important  in  the  child's  life. 
This  is  imitation's  opportunity.  The  infant 
watches  to  see  how  others  act,  because  his  own 
weal  and  woe  depends  upon  this  "how";  and  in- 
asmuch as  he  knows  not  what  to  anticipate,  his 
mind  is  open  to  every  suggestion  of  movement. 
So  he  falls  to  imitating.  His  attention  dwells 
upon  details,  and  by  the  principle  of  adaptation 


86  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

which  imitation  expresses,  it  acts  out  these  de- 
tails for  himself. 

It  is  an  interesting  detail,  that  at  this  stage 
the  child  begins  to  grow  capricious  himself;  to 
feel  that  he  can  do  whatever  he  likes.  Sug- 
gestion begins  to  lose  the  regularity  of  its  work- 
ing, for  it  meets  the  child's  growing  sense  of  his 
own  agency.  The  youthful  hero  becomes  "con- 
trary." At  this  period  it  is  that  obedience  begins 
to  grow  hard,  and  its  meaning  begins  to  dawn 
upon  the  child  as  the  great  reality.  For  it  means 
the  subjection  of  his  own  agency,  his  own  liberty 
to  be  capricious,  to  the  agency  and  liberty  of 
some  one  else. 

3.  With  all  this,  the  child's  distinction  between 
and  among  the  persons  who  constantly  come  into 
contact  with  him  grows  on  apace,  in  spite  of  the 
element   of   irregularity  of   the   general    fact   of 
personality.     As  he  learned  before  the  difference 
between   one   presence  and  another,   so   now  he 
learns  the  difference  between  one  character  and 
another.     Every  character  is  more  or  less  regu- 
lar in  its  irregularity.    It  has  its  tastes  and  modes 
of  action,  its  temperament  and  type  of  command. 
This  the  child  learns  late  in  the  second  year  and 
thereafter.      He    behaves    differently    when    the 
father  is  in  the  room.     He  is  quick  to  obey  one 
person,  slow  to  obey  another.     He  cries  aloud, 
pulls  his  companions,  and  behaves  reprehensibly 
generally,  when  no  adult  is  present  who  has  au- 
thority or  will  to  punish  him.     This  stage  in  his 
"  knowledge  of  man  "  leads  to  very  marked  dif- 
ferences of  conduct  on  his  part. 

4.  He  now  goes  on  to  acquire  real  self -conscious- 
ness and  social  feeling.     This  stage  is  so  important 
that  we  may  give  to  it  a  separate  heading  below. 


THE   MIND   OF   THE   CHILD.  8? 

It  may  not  be  amiss  to  sum  up  what  has  been 
said  about  Personality-Suggestion.  It  is  a  gen- 
eral term  for  the  information  which  the  child 
gets  about  persons.  It  develops  through  three 
or  four  roughly  distinguished  stages,  all  of  which 
illustrate  what  is  called  the  "projective  "  sense  of 
personality.*  There  is,  i.  A  bare  distinction  of 
persons  from  things  on  the  ground  of  peculiar  pain- 
movement-pleasure  experiences.  2.  A  sense  of 
the  irregularity  or  capriciousness  of  the  behav- 
iour of  these  persons,  which  suggests  personal 
agency.  3.  A  distinction,  vaguely  felt  perhaps,  but 
wonderfully  reflected  in  the  child's  actions,  be- 
tween the  modes  of  behaviour  or  personal characters 
of  different  persons.  4.  After  his  sense  of  his  own 
agency  arises  by  the  process  of  imitation,  he  gets 
what  is  really  self -consciousness  and  social  feeling. 

Self -consciousness. — So  far  as  we  have  now  gone 
the  child  has  only  a  very  dim  distinction  between 
himself  as  a  person  and  the  other  persons  who 
move  about  him.  The  persons  are  "  projective  " 
to  him,  mere  bodies  or  external  objects  of  a 
peculiar  sort  classed  together  because  they  show 
common  marks.  Yet  in  the  sense  of  agency,  he 
has  already  begun,  as  we  saw,  to  find  in  himself 
a  mental  nucleus,  or  centre.  This  comes  about 

*  It  is  very  remarkable  that  in  the  child's  bashfulness  we 
find  a  native  nervous  response  to  the  presence  of  persons. 
And  it  is  curious  to  note  that,  besides  the  general  gregarious- 
ness  which  many  animals  have,  they  show  in  many  instances 
special  responses  of  the  presence  of  creatures  of  their  own 
kind  or  of  other  kinds.  Dogs  seem  to  recognise  dogs  by 
smell.  So  with  cats,  which  also  respond  instinctively  with 
strong  repulsion  to  the  smell  of  dogs  Horses  seem  to  be 
guided  by  sight.  Fowls  are  notoriously  blind  to  shapes  of 
fowls,  but  depend  on  hearing  the  cries  of  their  kind  or  their 
young. 


88  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

from  his  tendency  to  fall  into  the  imitation  of 
the  acts  of  others. 

Now  as  he  proceeds  with  these  imitations  of 
others,,  he  finds  himself  gradually  understanding 
the  others,  by  coming,  through  doing  the  same 
actions  with  them,  to  discover  what  they  are  feel- 
ing, what  their  motives  are,  what  the  laws  of  their 
behaviour.  For  example,  he  sees  his  father  han- 
dle a  pin,  then  suddenly  make  a  face  as  he  pricks 
himself,  and  throws  the  pin  away.  All  this  is 
simply  a  puzzle  to  the  child;  his  father's  conduct 
is  capricious,  "projective."  But  the  child's  curi- 
osity in  the  matter  takes  the  form  of  imitation  ; 
he  takes  up  the  pin  himself  and  goes  through  the 
same  manipulation  of  it  that  his  father  did.  Thus 
he  gets  himself  pricked,  and  with  it  has  the  im- 
pulse to  throw  the  pin  away.  By  imitating  his 
father  he  has  now  discovered  what  was  inside 
the  father's  mind,  the  pain  and  the  motive  of  the 
action. 

This  way  of  proceeding  in  reference  to  the 
actions  of  others,  of  which  many  examples  might 
be  given,  has  a  twofold  significance  in  the  devel- 
opment of  the  child  ;  and  because  of  this  twofold 
significance  it  is  one  of  the  most  important  facts 
of  psychology.  Upon  it  rest,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  present  writer,  correct  views  of  ethics  and 
social  philosophy. 

i.  By  such  imitation  the  child  learns  to  asso- 
ciate his  own  sense  of  physical  power,  together 
with  his  own  private  pleasures  and  pains,  with  the 
personal  actions  which  were  before  observed,  it  is 
true,  in  other  persons  but  not  understood.  The 
act  of  the  father  has  now  become  his  own.  So 
one  by  one  the  various  attributes  which  he  has 
found  to  be  characteristic  of  the  persons  of  his 


THE  MIND' OF  THE  CHILD.  89 

social  circle,  become  his,  in  his  own  thought.  He 
is  now  for  himself  an  agent  who  has  the  marks  of 
a  Person  or  a  Self.  He  now  understands  from 
the  inside  all  the  various  personal  suggestions. 
What  he  saw  persons  do  is  now  no  longer  "  pro- 
jective  " — simply  there,  outside,  in  the  environ- 
ment; it  has  become  what  we  call  "subjective." 
The  details  are  grouped  and  held  together  by  the 
sense  of  agency  working  itself  out  in  his  imitative 
struggles. 

This  is  what  we  mean  by  Self-consciousness. 
It  is  not  an  inborn  thing  with  the  child.  He 
gradually  acquires  it.  And  it  is  not  a  sense  of  a 
distinct  and  separate  self,  first  known  and  then 
compared  with  other  persons.  On  the  contrary, 
it  is  gradually  built  up  in  the  child's  mind  from 
the  same  material  exactly  as  that  of  which  he 
makes  up  his  thought  of  other  persons.  The 
deeds  he  can  do  he  first  sees  others  doing;  only 
then  can  he  imitate  them  and  find  out  that  he 
also  is  a  being  who  can  perform  them. 

So  it  goes  all  through  our  lives.  Our  sense  of 
Self  is  constantly  changing,  constantly  being  en- 
riched. We  have  not  the  same  thought  of  self 
two  days  in  succession.  To-day  I  think  of  my- 
self as  something  to  be  proud  of,  to-morrow  as 
something  to  be  ashamed  of.  To-day  I  learn 
something  from  you,  and  the  thought  that  it  is 
common  to  you  and  to  me  is  the  basis  of  my 
sympathy  with  you.  To-morrow  1  learn  to  com- 
mit the  unworthy  act  which  Mr.  A.  commits,  and 
the  thought  that  he  and  I  are  so  far  the  same  is 
the  basis  of  the  common  disapproval  which  I  feel 
of  him  and  me. 

2.  The  second  result  of  this  imitative  learning 
about  personality  is  of  equal  importance.  When 


90  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

the  child  has  taken  up  an  action  by  imitation  and 
made  it  subjective,  finding  out  that  personality 
has  an  inside,  something  more  than  the  mere 
physical  body,  then  he  reads  this  fact  back  into 
the  other  persons  also.  He  says  to  himself:  "He 
too,  my  little  brother,  must  have  in  him  a  sense 
of  agency  similar  to  this  of  mine.  He  acts  imi- 
tatively,  too;  he  has  pleasures  and  pains;  he  shows 
sympathy  for  me,  just  as  I  do  for  him.  So  do 
all  the  persons  with  whom  I  have  become  so  far 
acquainted.  They  are,  then,  'subjects 'as  I  am 
— something  richer  than  the  mere  'projects' 
which  I  had  supposed."  Soother  persons  become 
essentially  like  himself;  and  not  only  like  himself, 
but  identical  with  himself  so  far  as  the  particular 
marks  are  concerned  which  he  has  learned  from 
them.  For  it  will  be  remembered  that  all  these 
marks  were  at  first  actually  taken  up  by  imitation 
from  these  very  persons.  The  child  is  now  giv- 
ing back  to  his  parents,  teachers,  etc.,  only  the 
material  which  he  himself  took  from  them.  He 
has  enriched  it,  to  be  sure;  with  it  he  now  reads 
into  the  other  persons  the  great  fact  of  subjective 
agency;  but  still  whatever  he  thinks  of  them  has 
come  by  way  of  his  thought  of  himself,  and  that 
in  turn  was  made  up  from  them. 

This  view  of  the  other  person  as  being  the 
same  in  the  main  as  the  self  who  thinks  of  the 
other  person,  is  what  psychologists  mean  when 
they  speak  of  the  "  ejective  "  self.  It  is  the  self 
of  some  one  else  as  I  think  of  it ;  in  other  words, 
it  is  myself  "ejected"  out  by  me  and  lodged  in 
him. 

The  Social  and  Ethical  Sense. — From  this  we 
see  what  the  Social  Sense  is.  It  is  the  feeling 
which  arises  in  the  child  or  man  of  the  real  iden- 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   CHILD.  91 

tity,  through  its  imitative  origin,  of  all  possible 
thoughts  of  self,  whether  yourself,  myself,  or 
some  one  else's  self.  The  bond  between  you  and 
me  is  not  an  artificial  one;  it  is  as  natural  as  is 
the  recognition  of  personal  individuality.  And  it 
is  doing  violence  to  this  fundamental  fact  to  say, 
as  social  science  so  often  assumes,  that  the  indi- 
vidual naturally  separates  himself  or  his  interests 
from  the  self  or  the  interests  of  others.  He  is,  on 
the  contrary,  bound  up  with  others  from  the  start 
by  the  very  laws  of  his  growth.  His  social  action 
and  feeling  are  natural  to  him.  The  child  can 
not  be  selfish  only  nor  generous  only ;  he  may 
seem  to  be  this  or  that,  in  this  circumstance  or 
that,  but  he  is  really  social  all  the  time. 

Furthermore,  his  sense  of  right  and  wrong,  his 
Ethical  Sense,  grows  up  upon  this  sense  of  the 
social  bond.  This  I  can  not  stop  to  explain  fur- 
ther. But  it  is  only  when  social  relationships  are 
recognised  as  essential  in  the  child's  growth  that 
we  can  understand  the  mutual  obligations  and 
duties  which  the  moral  life  imposes  upon  us  all. 

How  to  Observe  Children,  with  Especial  Refer- 
ence to  Observations  of  Imitation. — There  are  one 
or  two  considerations  of  such  practical  impor- 
tance to  all  those  who  wish  to  observe  children 
that  I  venture  to  throw  them  together — only  say- 
ing, by  way  of  introduction,  that  nothing  less 
than  the  child's  personality  is  at  stake  in  the 
method  and  matter  of  its  imitations.  The  Self  is 
really  the  form  in  which  the  personal  influences 
surrounding  the  child  take  on  their  new  individu- 
ality. 

i.  No  observations  are  of  much  importance 
which  are  not  accompanied  by  a  detailed  state- 
ment of  the  personal  influences  which  have  affect- 


92  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

ed  the  child.  This  is  the  more  important  since 
the  child  sees  few  persons,  and  sees  them  con- 
stantly. It  is  not  only  likely — it  is  inevitable — 
that  he  make  up  his  personality,  under  limitations  of 
heredity,  by  imitation,  out  of  the  "copy"  set  in 
the  actions,  temper,  emotions,  of  the  persons  who 
build  around  him  the  social  enclosure  of  his  child- 
hood. It  is  only  necessary  to  watch  a  two-year- 
old  closely  to  see  what  members  of  the  family 
are  giving  him  his  personal  "  copy  " — to  find  out 
whether  he  sees  his  mother  constantly  and  his 
father  seldom;  whether  he  plays  much  with  other 
children,  and  what  in  some  degree  their  disposi- 
tions are ;  whether  he  is  growing  to  be  a  person 
of  subjection,  equality,  or  tyranny;  whether  he  is 
assimilating  the  elements  of  some  low  unorganized 
social  personality  from  his  foreign  nurse.  The 
boy  or  girl  is  a  social  "monad,"  to  use  Leibnitz's 
figure  in  a  new  context,  a  little  world,  which  re- 
flects the  whole  system  of  influences  coming  to 
stir  his  sensibility.  And  just  in  so  far  as  his  sen- 
sibilities are  stirred,  he  imitates,  and  forms  habits 
of  imitating;  and  habits? — they  are  character! 

2.  A  point  akin  to  the  first  is  this:  the  obser- 
vation of  each  child  should  describe  with  great 
accuracy  the  child's  relations  to  other  children. 
Has  he  brothers  or  sisters  ?  how  many  of  each, 
and  of  what  age  ?  Does  he  sleep  in  the  same  bed 
or  room  with  them  ?  Do  they  play  much  with  one 
another  alone  ?  The  reason  is  very  evident.  An 
only  child  has  only  adult  "  copy."  He  can  not 
interpret  his  father's  actions,  or  his  mother's,  of- 
tentimes. He  imitates  very  blindly.  He  lacks  the 
more  childish  example  of  a  brother  or  sister  near 
himself  in  age.  And  this  difference  is  of  very 
great  importance  to  his  development.  He  lacks 


THE  MIND  OF  THE  CHILD.  93 

the  stimulus,  for  example,  of  games  in  which  per- 
sonification is  a  direct  tutor  to  selfhood,  as  I  shall 
remark  further  on.  And  while  he  becomes  preco- 
cious in  some  lines  of  instruction,  he  fails  in  va- 
riety of  imagination,  in  richness  of  fancy,  at  the 
same  time  that  his  imaging  processes  are  more 
wild  and  uncontrolled.  The  dramatic,  in  his  sense 
of  social  situations,  is  largely  hidden.  It  is  a 
very  great  mistake  to  isolate  children,  especially 
to  separate  off  one  or  two  children.  One  alone 
is  perhaps  the  worse,  but  two  alone  are  subject  to 
the  other  element  of  social  danger  which  I  may 
mention  next. 

3.  Observers  should  report  with  especial  care 
all  cases  of  unusually  close  relationship  between 
children  in  youth,  such  as  childish  favoritism, 
"  platonic  friendships,"  "  chumming,"  in  school  or 
home,  etc.  We  have  in  these  facts — and  there  is  a 
very  great  variety  of  them — an  exaggeration  of  the 
social  or  imitative  tendency,  a  narrowing  down  of 
the  personal  sensibility  to  a  peculiar  line  of  well- 
formed  influences.  It  has  never  been  studied  by 
writers  either  on  the  genesis  of  social  emotion  or 
on  the  practice  of  education.  To  be  sure,  teach- 
ers have  been  alive  to  the  pros  and  cons  of  allow- 
ing children  and  students  to  room  together ;  but 
that  has  been  with  view  to  the  possibility  of  direct 
immoral  or  unwholesome  contagion.  This  dan- 
ger is  certainly  real ;  but  we,  as  psychological 
observers,  and  above  all  as  teachers  and  leaders 
of  our  children,  must  go  deeper  than  that.  Con- 
sider, for  example,  the  possible  influence  of  a 
school  chum  and  roommate  upon  a  girl  in  her 
teens ;  for  this  is  only  an  evident  case  of  what  all 
isolated  children  are  subject  to.  A  sensitive  na- 
ture, a  girl  whose  very  life  is  a  branch  of  a  social 


94  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

tree,  is  placed  in  a  new  environment,  to  engraft 
upon  the  members  of  her  mutilated  self — her  very 
personality;  it  is  nothing  less  than  that — utterly 
new  channels  of  supply.  The  only  safety  possible, 
the  only  way  to  conserve  the  lessons  of  her  past, 
apart  from  the  veriest  chance,  and  to  add  to  the 
structure  of  her  present  character,  lies  in  securing 
for  her  the  greatest  possible  variety  of  social  in- 
fluences. Instead  of  this,  she  is  allowed  to  meet, 
eat,  walk,  talk,  lie  down  at  night,  and  rise  in  the 
morning,  with  one  other  person,  a  "  copy  "  set  before 
her,  as  immature  in  all  likelihood  as  herself,  or,  if 
not  so,  yet  a  single  personality,  put  there  to  wrap 
around  her  growing  self  the  confining  cords  of 
unassimilated  and  foreign  habit.  Above  all  things, 
fathers,  mothers,  teachers,  elders,  give  the  chil- 
dren room  !  They  need  all  that  they  can  get,  and 
their  personalities  will  grow  to  fill  it.  Give  them 
plenty  of  companions,  fill  their  lives  with  variety ; 
variety  is  the  soul  of  originality,  and  its  only 
source  of  supply.  The  ethical  life  itself,  the  boy's, 
the  girl's,  conscience,  is  born  in  the  stress  of  the 
conflicts  of  suggestion,  born  right  out  of  his  imi- 
tative hesitations  ;  and  just  this  is  the  analogy 
which  he  must  assimilate  and  depend  upon  in  his 
own  conflicts  for  self-control  and  social  conti- 
nence. So  impressively  true  is  this  from  the  hu- 
man point  of  view  that,  in  my  opinion — formed, 
it  is  true,  from  the  very  few  data  accessible  on 
such  points,  still  a  positive  opinion — friendships 
of  a  close  exclusive  kind  should  be  discouraged 
or  broken  up,  except  when  under  the  immediate 
eye  of  the  wise  parent  or  guardian  ;  and  even  when 
allowed,  these  relationships  should,  in  all  cases, 
be  used  to  entrain  the  sympathetic  and  moral  sen- 
timents into  a  wider  field  of  social  exercise. 


THE   MIND   OF  THE   CHILD.  95 

One  of  the  merits  of  the  great  English  schools 
and  of  the  free  schools  of  America  is  that  in  them 
the  boys  acquire,  from  necessity,  the  independ- 
ence of  sturdy  character,  and  the  self-restraint 
which  is  self-imposed.  The  youth  brought  up  to 
mind  a  tutor  often  fails  of  the  best  discipline. 

4.  The  remainder  of  this  section  may  be  de- 
voted to  the  further  emphasis  of  the  need  of  close 
observation  of  children's  games,  especially  those 
which  may  be  best  described  as  "  society  games." 
All  those  who  have  given  even  casual  observation 
to  the  doings  of  the  nursery  have  been  impressed 
with  the  extraordinary  facility  of  the  child's  mind, 
from  the  second  year  onward,  in  imagining  and 
plotting  social  and  dramatic  situations.  It  has 
not  been  so  evident,  however,  to  these  casual  ob- 
servers, nor  to  many  really  more  skilled,  that  they 
were  observing  in  these  fancy  plays  the  putting 
together  anew  of  fragments,  or  larger  pieces,  of 
the  adult's  mental  history.  Here,  in  these  games, 
we  see  the  actual  use  which  our  children  make  of 
the  personal  "  copy  "  material  which  they  get  from 
you  and  me.  If  a  man  study  these  games  patient- 
ly in  his  own  children,  and  analyze  them  out,  he 
gradually  sees  emerge  from  within  the  inner  con- 
sciousness a  picture  of  the  boy's  own  father,  whom 
he  aspires  to  be  like,  and  whose  actions  he  seeks 
to  generalize  and  apply.  The  picture  is  poor,  for 
the  child  takes  only  what  he  is  sensible  to.  And 
it  does  seem  often,  as  Sighele  pathetically  notices 
on  a  large  social  scale,  and  as  the  Westminster 
divines  have  urged  without  due  sense  of  the  pa- 
thetic and  home-coming  point  of  it,  that  he  takes 
more  of  the  bad  in  us  for  reproduction  than  of  the 
good !  But,  be  this  as  it  may,  what  we  give  him 
is  all  he  gets.  Heredity  does  not  stop  with  birth; 


g6  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

it  is  then  only  beginning.  And  the  pity  of  it  is 
that  this  element  of  heredity,  this  reproduction  of 
the  fathers  in  the  children,  which  might  be  used 
to  redeem  the  new-forming  personality  from  the 
heritage  of  past  commonness  or  impurity,  is  sim- 
ply left  to  take  its  course  for  the  further  estab- 
lishing and  confirmation  of  it.  Was  there  ever  a 
group  of  school  children  who  did  not  leave  the 
real  school  to  make  a  play  school,  setting  up  a 
box  for  one  of  their  number  to  sit  on  and  "  take 
off  "  the  teacher  ?  Was  there  ever  a  child  who 
did  not  play  "church,"  and  force  the  impro- 
vised "  papa  "  into  the  pulpit  ?  Were  there  ever 
children  who  did  not  "  buy  "  things  from  fan- 
cied stalls  in  every  corner  of  the  nursery,  after 
they  had  once  seen  an  elder  drive  a  trade  in  the 
market  ?  The  point  is  this :  the  child's  per- 
sonality grows  ;  growth  is  always  by  action ;  he 
clothes  upon  himself  the  scenes  of  the  parent's 
life  and  acts  them  out ;  so  he  grows  in  what  he 
is,  what  he  understands,  and  what  he  is  able  to 
perform. 

In  order  to  be  of  more  direct  service  to  observ- 
ers of  games  of  this  character,  let  me  give  a  short 
account  of  an  observation  of  the  kind  made  some 
time  ago — one  of  the  simplest  of  many  actual 
situations  which  my  two  little  girls,  Helen  and 
Elizabeth,  have  acted  out  together.  It  is  a  very 
commonplace  case,  a  game  the  elements  of  which 
are  evident  in  their  origin ;  but  I  choose  this 
rather  than  one  more  complex,  since  observers  are 
usually  not  psychologists,  and  they  find  the  ele- 
mentary the  more  instructive. 

On  May  2  I  was  sitting  on  the  porch  alone 
with  the  children — the  two  mentioned  above, 
aged  respectively  four  and  a  half  and  two  and  a 


THE  MIND  OF  THE  CHILD.  97 

half  years.  Helen,  the  elder,  told  Elizabeth  that 
she  was  her  little  baby ;  that  is,  Helen  became 
"  mamma,"  and  Elizabeth  the  "  baby."  The  young- 
er responded  by  calling  her  sister  "  mamma,"  and 
the  play  began. 

"  You  have  been  asleep,  baby.  Now  it  is  time 
to  get  up,"  said  mamma.  Baby  rose  from  the  floor 
— first  falling  down  in  order  to  rise ! — was  seized 
upon  by  "mamma,"  taken  to  the  railing  to  an  imagi- 
nary washstand,  and  her  face  washed  by  rubbing. 
Her  articles  of  clothing  were  then  named  in  im- 
agination, and  put  on,  one  by  one,  in  the  most 
detailed  and  interesting  fashion.  During  all  this 
"  mamma  "  kept  up  a  stream  of  baby  talk  to  her 
infant:  "Now  your  stockings,  my  darling;  now 
your  skirt,  sweetness — O!  no — not  yet — your 
shoes  first,"  etc.,  etc.  Baby  acceded  to  all  the  de- 
tails with  more  than  the  docility  which  real  infants 
usually  show.  When  this  was  done — "  Now  we 
must  go  tell  papa  good-morning,  dearie,"  said 
mamma.  "Yes,  mamma,"  came  the  reply;  and 
hand  in  hand  they  started  to  find  papa.  I, 
the  spectator,  carefully  read  my  newspaper, 
thinking,  however,  that  the  reality  of  papa,  see- 
ing that  he  was  so  much  in  evidence,  would  break 
in  upon  the  imagined  situation.  But  not  so. 
Mamma  led  her  baby  directly  past  me  to  the  end  of 
the  piazza.,  to  a  column  in  the  corner.  "  There's 
papa,"  said  mamma  ;  "now  tell  him  good-morn- 
ing."— "Good-morning,  papa;  I  am  very  well," 
said  baby,  bowing  low  to  the  column.  "That's 
good,"  said  mamma,  in  a  gruff,  low  voice,  which 
caused  in  the  real  papa  a  thrill  of  amused  self- 
consciousness  most  difficult  to  contain.  "  Now 
you  must  have  your  breakfast,"  said  mamma.  The 
seat  of  a  chair  was  made  a  breakfast  table,  the 


98  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

baby's  feigned  bib  put  on,  and  her  porridge  care- 
fully administered,  with  all  the  manner  of  the 
nurse  who  usually  directs  their  breakfast.  "  Now  " 
(after  the  meal,  which  suddenly  became  dinner 
instead  of  breakfast),  "  you  must  take  your  nap," 
said  mamma.  "No,  mamma;  I  don't  want  to," 
said  baby.  "  But  you  must." — "  No  ;  you  be  baby, 
and  take  the  nap." — "  But  all  the  other  children 
have  gone  to  sleep,  dearest,  and  the  doctor  says  you 
must"  said  mamma.  This  convinced  baby,  and  she 
lay  down  on  the  floor.  "  But  I  haven't  undressed 
you."  So  then  came  all  the  detail  of  undressing; 
and  mamma  carefully  covered  her  up  on  the  floor 
with  a  light  shawl,  saying:  "  Spring  is  coming 
now;  that'll  be  enough.  Now  shut  your  eyes, 
and  go  to  sleep." — "  But  you  haven't  kissed  me, 
mamma,"  said  the  little  one.  "  Oh,  of  course,  my 
darling!" — so  a  long  siege  of  kissing!  Then 
baby  closed  her  eyes  very  tight,  while  mamma 
went  on  tiptoe  away  to  the  end  of  the  porch. 
"Don't  go  away,  mamma,"  said  baby.  "No; 
mamma  wouldn't  leave  her  darling,"  came  the 
reply. 

So  this  went  on.  The  nap  over,  a  walk  was 
proposed,  hats  put  on,  etc.,  the  mamma  exercising 
great  care  and  solicitude  for  her  baby.  One 
further  incident  to  show  this:  when  the  baby's 
hat  was  put  on — the  real  hat — mamma  tied  the 
strings  rather  tight.  "  Oh  !  you  hurt,  mamma," 
said  baby.  "No;  mamma  wouldn't  draw  the 
strings  too  tight.  Let  mamma  kiss  it.  There,  is 
that  better,  my  darling  ?  " — all  comically  true  to 
a  certain  sweet  maternal  tenderness  which  I  had 
no  difficulty  in  tracing. 

Now  in  such  a  case  what  is  to  be  reported, 
of  course,  is  the  facts.  Yet  knowledge  of  more 


THE   MIND   OF   THE   CHILD.  99 

than  the  facts  is  necessary,  as  I  have  said  above, 
in  order  to  get  the  full  psychological  lesson. 
We  need  just  the  information  which  concerns  the 
rest  of  the  family  and  the  social  influences  of  the 
children's  lives.  I  recognised  at  once  every 
phrase  which  the  children  used  in  this  play,  where 
they  got  it,  what  it  meant  in  its  original  context, 
and  how  far  its  meaning  had  been  modified  in 
this  process,  called  in  a  figure  "social  heredity." 
But  as  that  story  is  reported  to  strangers  who 
have  no  knowledge  of  the  children's  social  ante- 
cedents, how  much  beyond  the  mere  facts  of  imi- 
tation and  personification  do  they  get  from  it  ? 
And  how  much  the  more  is  this  true  when  we  ex- 
amine those  complex  games  of  the  nursery  which 
show  the  brilliant  fancy  for  situation  and  drama 
of  the  wide-awake  four-year-old  ? 

Yet  we  psychologists  are  free  to  interpret;  and 
how  rich  the  lessons  even  from  such  a  simple 
scene  as  this !  As  for  Helen,  what  could  be  a 
more  direct  lesson — a  lived-out  exercise — in  sym- 
pathy, in  altruistic  self-denial,  in  the  healthy  ele- 
vation of  her  sense  of  self  to  the  dignity  of 
kindly  offices,  in  the  sense  of  responsibility  and 
agency,  in  the  stimulus  to  original  effort  and  the 
designing  of  means  to  ends — and  all  of  it  with 
the  best  sense  of  the  objectivity  which  is  quite 
lost  in  wretched  self-consciousness  in  us  adults, 
when  we  personate  other  characters?  What  could 
further  all  this  highest  mental  growth  better  than 
the  game  by  which  the  lessons  of  her  mother's 
daily  life  are  read  into  the  child's  little  self  ?  Then, 
in  the  case  of  Elizabeth  also,  certain  things  ap- 
pear. She  obeys  without  command  or  sanction, 
she  takes  in  from  her  sister  the  elements  of  per- 
sonal suggestion  in  their  simpler  childish  forms. 


100  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

Certainly  such  scenes,  repeated  every  day  with 
such  variation  of  detail,  must  give  something 
of  the  sense  of  variety  and  social  equality  which 
real  life  afterward  confirms  and  proceeds  upon  ; 
and  lessons  of  the  opposite  character  are  learned 
by  the  same  process. 

All  this  exercise  of  fancy  must  strengthen  the 
imaginative  faculty  also.  The  prolonged  situa- 
tions, maintained  sometimes  whole  days,  or  pos- 
sibly weeks,  give  strength  to  the  imagination  and 
train  the  attention.  I  think,  also,  that  the  sense 
of  essential  reality,  and  its  distinction  from  the 
unreal,  the  merely  imagined,  is  helped  by  this  sort 
of  symbolic  representation.  Play  has  its  dangers 
also — very  serious  ones.  The  adults  sometimes 
set  bad  examples.  The  game  gives  practise  in 
cunning  no  less  than  in  forbearance.  Possibly 
the  best  service  of  observation  just  now  is  to 
gather  the  facts  with  a  view  to  the  proper  recog- 
nition and  avoidance  of  the  dangers. 

Finally,  I  may  be  allowed  a  word  to  interested 
parents.  You  can  be  of  no  use  whatever  to  psy- 
chologists— to  say  nothing  of  the  actual  damage 
you  may  be  to  the  children — unless  you  know 
your  babies  through  and  through.  Especially  the 
fathers !  They  are  willing  to  study  everything 
else.  They  know  every  corner  of  the  house  famil- 
iarly, and  what  is  done  in  it,  except  the  nursery. 
A  man  labours  for  his  children  ten  hours  a  day, 
gets  his  life  insured  for  their  support  after 
his  death,  and  yet  he  lets  their  mental  growth, 
the  formation  of  their  characters,  the  evolution 
of  their  personality,  go  on  by  absorption — if 
no  worse — from  common,  vulgar,  imported  and 
changing,  often  immoral  attendants !  Plato  said 
the  state  should  train  the  children ;  and  added 


THE   CONNECTION   OF   BODY  WITH   MIND.       101 

'that  the  wisest  man  should  rule  the  state.  This 
is  to  say  that  the  wisest  man  should  tend  his 
children  !  Hugo  gives  us,  in  Jean  Valjean  and 
Cosette,  a  picture  of  the  true  paternal  relation- 
ship. We  hear  a  certain  group  of  studies  called 
the  humanities,  and  it  is  right.  But  the  best  school 
in  the  humanities  for  every  man  is  in  his  own 
house. 

With  this  goes,  finally,  the  highest  lesson  of 
sport,  drama,  make-believe,  even  when  we  trace 
it  up  into  the  art-impulse — the  lesson  of  personal 
freedom.  The  child  himself  sets  the  limitations  of 
the  game,  makes  the  rules,  and  subjects  himself  to 
them,  and  then  in  time  pierces  the  bubble  for 
himself,  saying,  "  I  will  play  no  more."  All  this  is 
the  germ  of  self-regulation,  of  the  control  of  the 
impulses,  of  the  voluntary  adoption  of  the  ideal, 
which  becomes  in  later  life — if  so  be  that  he  cling 
to  it — the  pearl  of  great  price. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    CONNECTION    OF    BODY    WITH    MIND — PHYSIO- 
LOGICAL   PSYCHOLOGY — MENTAL    DISEASES. 

IN  the  foregoing  pages  we  have  had  intima- 
tions of  some  of  the  important  questions  which 
arise  about  the  connection  of  mind  with  body. 
The  avenues  of  the  senses  are  the  normal  ap- 
proaches to  the  mind  through  the  body ;  and, 
taking  advantage  of  this,  experiments  are  made 
upon  the  senses.  This  gives  rise  to  Experimental 
Psychology,  to  which  the  chapter  after  this  is  de- 
voted. Besides  this,  however,  we  find  the  general 


102  THE   STORY  OF   THE   MIND. 

fact  that  a  normal  body  must  in  all  cases  be  present 
with  a  normal  mind,  and  this  makes  it  possible  to 
arrange  so  to  manipulate  the  body  that  changes 
may  be  produced  in  the  mind  in  other  ways  than 
through  the  regular  channels  of  sense.  For  ex- 
ample, we  influence  the  mind  when  we  drink  too 
much  tea  or  coffee,  not  to  mention  the  greater 
changes  of  the  same  kind  which  are  produced  in 
the  mind  of  the  drinker  of  too  much  alcohol  or 
other  poisonous  substances.  All  the  methodical 
means  of  procedure  by  which  the  psychologist 
produces  effects  of  this  kind  by  changing  the 
condition  or  functions  of  the  body  within  itself 
belong  to  Physiological  Psychology.  So  he 
modifies  the  respiration,  changes  the  heart  beat, 
stimulates  or  slows  the  circulation  of  the  blood, 
paralyzes  the  muscles,  etc.  The  ways  of  pro- 
cedure may  be  classified  under  a  few  heads,  each 
called  a  method. 

i.  Method  of  Extirpation. — This  means  simply 
the  cutting  away  of  a  part  of  the  body,  so  that 
any  effect  which  the  loss  of  the  part  makes  upon 
the  mind  may  be  noted.  It  is  used  especially 
upon  the  brain.  Pieces  of  the  brain,  great  or 
small — indeed,  practically  the  whole  brain  mass — 
may  be  removed  in  many  animals  without  destroy- 
ing life.  Either  of  the  cerebral  hemispheres  en- 
tire, together  with  large  portions  of  the  other, 
maybe  taken  from  the  human  brain  without  much 
effect  upon  the  vital  processes,  considered  as  a 
whole ;  the  actual  results  being  the  loss  of  certain 
mental  functions,  such  as  sight,  hearing,  power  of 
movement  of  particular  limbs,  etc.,  according  to 
the  location  of  the  part  which  is  removed.  Many 
of  the  facts  given  below  under  the  heading  of 
Localization  were  discovered  in  this  way,  the 


THE   CONNECTION   OF   BODY  WITH   MIND.      103 

guiding  principle  being  that  if  the  loss  of  a  func- 
tion follows  the  removal  of  a  certain  piece  of  the 
brain,  then  that  portion  of  the  brain  is  directly 
concerned  in  the  healthy  performance  of  that 
function. 

2.  Method  of  Artificial  Stimulation. — As  the 
term  indicates,  this  method  proceeds  by  finding 
some  sort  of  agent  by  which  the  physiological 
processes  may  be  started  artificially ;  that  is, 
without  the  usual  normal  starting  of  these  pro- 
cesses. For  example,  the  physician  who  stimu- 
lates the  heart  by  giving  digitalis  pursues  this 
method.  For  psychological  purposes  this  method 
has  also  been  fruitful  in  studying  the  brain,  and 
electricity  is  the  agent  customarily  used.  The 
brain  is  laid  bare  by  removing  part  of  the  skull  of 
the  animal,  and  the  two  electrodes  of  a  battery  are 
placed  upon  a  particular  point  of  the  brain  whose 
function  it  is  wished  to  determine.  The  current 
passes  out  along  the  nerves  which  are  normally 
set  in  action  from  this  particular  region,  and 
movements  of  the  muscles  follow  in  certain  defi- 
nite parts  and  directions.  This  is  an  indication 
of  the  normal  function  of  the  part  of  the  brain 
which  is  stimulated. 

Besides  this  method  of  procedure  a  new  one, 
also  by  brain  stimulation,  has  recently  been  em- 
ployed. It  consists  in  stimulating  a  spot  of  the 
brain  as  before,  but  instead  of  observing  the 
character  of  the  movement  which  follows,  the 
observer  places  galvanometers  in  connection  with 
various  members  of  the  body  and  observes  in 
which  of  the  galvanometers  the  current  comes 
out  of  the  animal's  body  (the  galvanometer  be- 
ing a  very  delicate  instrument  for  indicating  the 
presence  of  an  electric  current).  In  this  way  it 


104  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

is  determined  along  what  pathways  and  to  what 
organs  the  ordinary  vital  stimulation  passes  from 
the  brain,  provided  it  be  granted  that  the  electric 
current  takes  the  same  course. 

3.  Method   of   Intoxication,    called    the   "  Toxic 
Method." — The  remarks  above  may  suffice  for  a 
description  of  this  method.     The   results  of  the 
administration  of  toxic  or  poisonous  agents  upon 
the  mind  a/e  so  general  and  serious  in  their  char- 
acter, as  readers  of  De  Quincy  know,  that  very 
little   precise    knowledge    has   been  acquired  by 
their  use. 

4.  Method  of  Degeneration. — This    consists  in 
observing  the  progress  of  natural  or  artificially 
produced  disease  or  damage  to  the  tissues,  mainly 
the  nervous  tissues,  with  a  view  to  discovering  the 
directions  of  pathways  and  the  locations  of  con- 
nected   functions.      The    degeneration    or   decay 
following  disease  or  injury  follows  the  path  of 
normal  physiological  action,  and  so  discloses  it 
to  the  observer.    This  method  is  of  importance  to 
psychology  as  affording  a  means  of  locating  and 
following  up  the  course  of  a  brain  injury  which 
accompanies  this  or  that  mental  disease  or  defect. 

Results — Localization  of  Brain  Functions. — The 
more  detailed  results  of  this  sort  of  study,  when 
considered  on  the  side  of  the  nervous  organism, 
may  be  thrown  together  under  the  general  head 
of  Localization.  The  greatest  result  of  all  is 
just  the  discovery  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
localization  in  the  nervous  system  of  the  differ- 
ent mental  functions  of  sensation  and  movement. 
We  find  particular  parts  of  the  nervous  organism 
contributing  each  its  share,  in  a  more  or  less  inde- 
pendent way,  to  the  whole  flow  of  the  mental  life; 
and  in  cases  of  injury  or  removal  of  this  part  or 


THE   CONNECTION   OF   BODY    WITH   MIND.       105 

that,  there  is  a  corresponding  impairment  of  the 
mind. 

First  of  all,  it  is  found  that  the  nervous  sys- 
tem has  a  certain  up-and-down  arrangement  from 
the  segments  of  the  spinal  cord  up  to  the  gray 
matter  of  the  rind  or  "  cortex  "  of  the  large  masses 
or  hemispheres  in  the  skull,  to  which  the  word 
brain  is  popularly  applied.  This  up-and-down 
arrangement  shows  three  so-called  "  levels "  of 
function.  Beginning  with  the  spinal  cord,  we 
find  the  simplest  processes,  and  they  grow  more 
complex  as  we  go  up  toward  the  brain. 

The  lowest,  or  "  third  level,"  includes  all  the 
functions  which  the  spinal  cord,  and  its  upper 
termination,  called  the  "  medulla,"  are  able  to  per- 
form alone — that  is,  without  involving  necessarily 
the  activity  of  the  nervous  centres  and  brain 
areas  which  lie  above  them.  Such  "  third-level  " 
functions  are  those  of  the  life-sustaining  processes 
generally :  breathing,  heart-beat,  vasomotor  ac- 
tion (securing  the  circulation  of  the  blood),  etc. 
These  are  all  called  Automatic  processes.  They 
go  regularly  on  from  day  to  day,  being  constantly 
stimulated  by  the  normal  changes  in  the  physio- 
logical system  itself,  and  having  no  need  of  inter- 
ference from  the  mind  of  the  individual. 

In  addition  to  the  automatic  functions,  there 
is  a  second  great  class  of  processes  which  are  also 
managed  from  the  third  level ;  that  is,  by  the  dis- 
charge of  nervous  energy  from  particular  parts  of 
the  spinal  cord.  These  are  the  so-called  Reflex 
functions.  They  include  all  those  responses  which 
the  nervous  system  makes  to  stimulations  from 
the  outside,  in  which  the  mind  has  no  alternative 
or  control.  They  happen  whether  or  no.  For 
example,  when  an  object  comes  near  the  eye  the 


106  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

lid  flies  to  reflexly.  If  a  tap  be  made  upon  the 
knee  while  one  sits  with  the  legs  crossed  the  foot 
flies  up  reflexly.  Various  reflexes  may  be  brought 
out  in  a  sleeper  by  slight  stimulations  to  this  or 
that  region  of  his  body.  Furthermore,  each  of 
the  senses  has  its  own  set  of  reflex  adjustments 
to  the  stimulations  which  come  to  it.  The  eye 
accommodates  itself  in  the  most  delicate  way  to 
the  intensity  of  the  light,  the  distance  of  the  ob- 
ject, the  degree  of  elevation,  and  the  angular  dis- 
placement of  what  one  looks  at.  The  taking  of 
food  into  the  mouth  sets  up  all  sorts  of  reflex 
movements  which  do  not  cease  until  the  food  is 
safely  lodged  in  the  stomach,  and  so  on  through 
a  series  of  physiological  adaptations  which  are 
simply  marvellous  in  their  variety  and  extent. 
These  processes  belong  to  the  third  level ;  and  it 
may  surprise  the  uninitiated  to  know  that  not 
only  is  the  mind  quite  "  out  of  it  "  so  far  as  these 
functions  are  concerned,  but  that  the  brain  proper 
is  "out  of  it "  also.  Most  of  these  reflexes  not 
only  go  on  when  the  brain  is  removed  from  the 
skull,  but  it  is  an  interesting  detail  that  they  are 
generally  exaggerated  under  these  conditions. 
This  shows  that  while  the  third  or  lowest  level 
does  its  own  work,  it  is  yet  in  a  sense  under  the 
weight — what  physiologists  call  the  inhibiting 
action — of  the  higher  brain  masses.  It  is  not 
allowed  to  magnify  its  part  too  much,  nor  to  work 
out  of  its  proper  time  and  measure.  The  nervous 
apparatus  involved  in  these  "  third-level  "  func- 
tions may  be  called  the  "reflex  circuit"  (see  Fig. 
2),  the  path  being  from  the  sense  organ  up  to  the 
centre  by  a  "  sensory  "  nerve,  and  then  out  by  a 
"  motor  "  nerve  to  the  muscle. 

Going  upward  in  the  nervous  system,  we  next 


THE   CONNECTION   OF   BODY   WITH   MIND.      107 


find  a  certain  group  of  bodies  within  the  gross 
mass  of  the  brain,  certain  centres  lying  between 
the  hemispheres  above  and  the  medulla  and  spinal 
cord  below,  and  in  direct  connection  by  nervous 
tracts  with  both  of  these.  The  technical  names 
of  the  more  important  of  these  organs  are  these: 
the  "  corpora  striata,"  or  striped  bodies,  of  which 
there  are  two,  the 
"optic  thalami,"  also 
two  in  number,  and 
the  "cerebellum"  or 
little  brain,  situated 
behind.  These  make 
up  what  is  called 
the  "second  level " 
in  the  system.  They 
seem  to  be  especial- 
ly concerned  with 
the  life  of  sensation. 
When  the  centres 
lying  above  them, 
the  hemispheres,  are 
removed,  the  animal 
is  still  able  to  see, 
hear,  etc.,  and  still 
able  to  carry  out  his 

well-knit  habits  of  action  in  response  to  what  he 
sees  and  hears.  But  that  is  about  all.  A  bird 
treated  thus,  for  example,  these  second-level  cen- 
tres being  still  intact  while  the  hemispheres  are 
removed,  retains  his  normal  appearance,  being 
quite  able  to  stand  upon  his  feet,  to  fly,  walk,  etc. 
His  reflexes  are  also  unimpaired  and  his  inner 
physiological  processes ;  but  it  soon  becomes 
noticeable  that  his  mental  operations  are  limited 
very  largely  to  sensations.  He  sees  his  food  as 


sense  organ 


muscle 


FIG.  2. — s  c  mt  —  reflex  circuit ;  s  c 
sp  mp  c  mt  —  voluntary  circuit. 


108  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

usual,  but  does  not  remember  its  use,  and  makes 
no  attempt  to  eat  it.  He  sees  other  birds,  but 
does  not  respond  to  their  advances.  He  seems 
to  have  forgotten  all  his  education,  to  have  lost 
all  the  meanings  of  things,  to  have  practically  no 
intelligence.  A  dog  in  this  condition  no  longer 
fears  the  whip,  no  longer  responds  to  his  name, 
no  longer  steals  food.  On  the  side  of  his  conduct 
we  find  that  all  the  actions  which  he  had  learned 
by  training  now  disappear;  the  trick  dog  loses  all 
his  tricks.  What  was  called  Apperception  in  the 
earlier  chapter  seems  to  have  been  taken  away 
with  the  hemispheres. 

Coming  to  the  "  first  level,"  the  highest  of  all, 
both  in  anatomical  position  and  in  the  character 
of  the  functions  over  which  it  presides,  we  see  at 
once  what  extraordinary  importance  it  has.  It 
comprises  the  cortex  of  the  hemispheres,  which 
taken  together  are  called  the  cerebrum.  It  con- 
sists of  the  parts  which  we  supposed  cut  out  of  the 
pigeon  and  dog  just  mentioned  ;  and  when  we  re- 
member what  these  animals  lose  by  its  removal, 
we  see  what  the  normal  animal  or  man  owes  to 
the  integrity  of  this  organ.  It  is  above  all  the 
organ  of  mind.  If  we  had  to  say  that  the  mind 
as  such  is  located  anywhere,  we  should  say  in  the 
gray  matter  of  the  cortex  of  the  hemispheres  of 
the  brain.  For  although,  as  we  saw,  animals  with- 
out this  organ  can  still  see  and  hear  and  feel,  yet 
we  also  saw  that  they  could  do  little  else  and 
could  learn  to  do  nothing  more.  All  the  higher 
operations  of  mind  come  back  only  when  we 
think  of  the  animal  as  having  normal  brain 
hemispheres. 

Further,  we  find  this  organ  in  some  degree 
duplicating  the  function  of  the  second-level  cen- 


THE   CONNECTION   OF   BODY  WITH    MIND.      109 

tres,  for  fibres  go  out  from  these  intermediate 
masses  to  certain  areas  of  the  hemispheres,  which 
reproduce  locally  the  senses  of  hearing,  sight,  etc. 
By  these  fibres  the  functions  of  the  senses  are 
"projected"  out  to  the  surface  of  the  brain,  and 
the  term  "  projection  fibres "  is  applied  to  the 
nerves  which  make  these  connections.  The  hemi- 
spheres are  not  content  even  with  the  most  im- 
portant of  all  functions — the  strictly  intelligent — 
but  they  are  jealous,  so  to  speak,  of  the  simple 
sensations  which  the  central  brain  masses  are  ca- 
pable of  awaking.  And  in  the  very  highest  ani- 
mals, probably  only  monkeys  and  man,  we  find 
that  the  hemispheres  have  gone  so  far  with  their 
jealousy  as  to  usurp  the  function  of  sensation. 
This  is  seen  in  the  singular  fact  that  with  a 
monkey  or  man  the  removal  of  the  cortical  cen- 
tres makes  the  animal  permanently  blind  or  deaf, 
as  the  case  may  be,  while  in  the  lower  animals 
such  removal  does  not  have  this  result,  so  long  as 
the  "  second-level  "  organs  are  unimpaired.  The 
brain  paths  of  the  functions  of  the  second  and 
first  levels  taken  together  constitute  the  so-called 
"  voluntary  circuit  "  (see  Fig.  2). 

In  addition  to  this  general  demarcation  of 
functions  as  higher  and  lower — first,  second,  and 
third  level — in  their  anatomical  seat,  many  in- 
teresting discoveries  have  been  made  in  the  locali- 
zation of  the  simpler  functions  in  the  cortex  itself. 
The  accompanying  figures  (Figs.  3  and  4)  will 
show  the  principle  centres  which  have  been  deter- 
mined; and  it  is  not  necessary  to  dwell  upon  ad- 
ditional details  which  are  still  under  discussion. 
The  areas  marked  out  are  in  general  the  same  on 
both  hemispheres,  and  that  is  to  say  that  most  of 
the  centres  are  duplicated.  The  speech  centres, 


110  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

however,  are  on  one  side  only.  And  in  certain 
cases  the  nervous  fibres  which  connect  the  cortex 
with  the  body-organs  cross  below  the  brain  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  body.  This  is  always  true  in 
cases  of  muscular  movement ;  the  movements  of 
the  right  side  of  the  body  are  controlled  by  the 
left  hemisphere,  and  vice  -versa.  The  stimulations 
coming  in  from  the  body  to  the  brain  generally 


FIG.  3. — Outer  surface  of  left  hemisphere  of  the  brain  (modified 
from  Exner) :  a,  fissure  of  Rolando ;  6,  fissure  of  Sylvius. 

travel  on  the  same  side,  although  in  certain  cases 
parallel  impulses  are  also  sent  over  to  the  other 
hemisphere  as  well.  For  example,  the  very  im- 
portant optic  nerve,  which  is  necessary  to  vision, 
comes  from  each  eye  separately  in  a  large  bunch 
of  fibres,  and  divides  at  the  base  of  the  brain,  so 
that  each  eye  sends  impulses  directly  to  the  visual 
centres  of  both  hemispheres. 


THE   CONNECTION   OF   BODY  WITH   MIND.      Ill 

Of  all  the  special  questions  which  have  arisen 
about  the  localization  of  functions  in  the  nervous 
system,  that  of  the  function  of  certain  areas  known 
as  "motor  centres"  has  been  eagerly  discussed. 
The  region  on  both  sides  of  the  fissure  of  Ro- 
lando in  Fig.  3  contains  a  number  of  areas  which 
give,  when  stimulated  with  electricity,  very  defi- 
nite and  regular  movements  of  certain  muscles 


FIG.  4. — Inner  (mesial)  surface  of  the  right  hemisphere  of  the 
brain  (modified  from  Schafer  and  Horsley).  In  both  figures 
the  shaded  area  is  the  motor  zone. 

on  the  opposite  side  of  the  body.  By  careful  ex- 
ploration of  these  areas  the  principal  muscular 
combinations — those  for  facial  movements,  neck 
movements,  movements  of  the  arm,  trunk,  legs, 
tail,  etc. — have  been  very  precisely  ascertained. 
It  was  concluded  from  these  facts  that  these  areas 
were  respectively  the  centres  for  the  discharge  of 
the  nervous  impulses  running  in  each  case  to  the 
muscles  which  were  moved.  The  evidence  re- 
9 


112  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

cently  forthcoming,  however,  is  leading  investi- 
gators to  think  that  there  is  no  cortical  centre  for 
the  "  motor  "  or  outgoing  processes  properly  so 
called,  and  that  these  Rolandic  areas,  although 
called  "  motor,"  are  really  centres  for  the  incom- 
ing reports  of  the  movements  of  the  respective 
muscles  after  the  movements  take  place,  and  also 
for  the  preservation  of  the  memories  of  movement 
which  the  mind  must  have  before  a  particular 
movement  can  be  brought  about  (the  mental 
images  of  movement  which  we  called  on  an  earlier 
page  Kinaesthetic  Equivalents).  These  centres 
being  aroused  in  the  thought  of  the  movement 
desired,  which  is  the  necessary  mental  preparation 
for  the  movement,  they  in  turn  stimulate  the  real 
motor  centres  which  lie  below  the  cortex  at  the 
second  level.  This  is  in  the  present  writer's  judg- 
ment the  preferable  interpretation  of  the  evidence 
which  we  now  have. 

The  Speech  Zone. — Many  interesting  facts  of 
the  relation  of  body  and  mind  have  come  to  light 
in  connection  with  the  speech  functions.  Speech 
is  complex,  both  on  the  psychological  and  also 
on  the  physiological  side,  and  easily  deranged  in 
ways  that  take  on  such  remarkable  variety  that 
they  are  a  source  of  very  fruitful  indications  to 
the  inquirer.  It  is  now  proved  that  speech  is  not 
a  faculty,  a  single  definite  capacity  which  a  man 
either  has  or  has  not.  It  is  rather  a  complex 
thing  resulting  from  the  combined  action  of  many 
brain  centres,  and,  on  the  mental  side,  of  many  so- 
called  faculties,  or  functions.  In  order  to  speak 
a  man  normally  requires  what  is  called  a  "  zone  " 
in  his  brain,  occupying  a  large  portion  of  the  out- 
side lateral  region  (see  Fig.  5).  It  extends,  as  in 
the  figure,  from  the  Rolandic  region  (K),  where 


THE   CONNECTION   OF   BODY  WITH   MIND.      113 


FIG.  5.— The  speech  zone  (after  Collins). 


114  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

the  kinaestheticlip-and-tongue  memories  of  words 
are  aroused,  backward  into  the  temporal  region 
(A),  where  the  auditory  memories  of  words  spring 
up ;  then  upward  to  the  angular  gyrus  in  the 
rear  or  occipital  region  (V),  where  in  turn  the 
visual  pictures  of  the  written  or  printed  words 
rise  to  perform  their  part  in  the  performance  ;  and 
with  all  this  combination  there  is  associated  the 
centre  for  the  movements  of  the  hand  and  arm  em- 
ployed in  writing,  an  area  higher  up  in  the  Rolandic 
region  (above  K).  In  the  same  general  zone  we  also 
find  the  music  function  located,  the  musical  sounds 
being  received  in  the  auditory  centre  very  near 
the  area  for  words  heard  (A),  while  the  centre  for 
musical  expression  is  also  in  the  Rolandic  region. 
Furthermore,  as  may  be  surmised,  the  reading  of 
musical  notation  requires  the  visual  centre,  just 
as  does  the  reading  of  words.  In  addition  to  this, 
we  find  the  curious  fact  that  the  location  of  the 
whole  speech  zone  is  in  one  hemisphere  only.  Its 
location  on  the  left  or  the  right,  in  particular 
cases,  is  also  an  indication  as  to  whether  the  per- 
son is  right-  or  left-handed ;  this  means  that  the 
process  which  makes  the  individual  either  right- 
or  left-handed  is  probably  located  in  the  speech 
zone,  or  near  it.  A  large  majority  of  persons 
have  the  speech  zone  in  the  left  hemisphere, 
and  are  right-handed ;  it  will  be  seen  that  the 
figure  (5)  shows  the  left  hemisphere  of  the 
brain,  and  with  it  the  right  hand  holding  the 
pen. 

Defects  of  Speech — Aphasia. — The  sorts  of  in- 
jury which  may  befall  a  large  zone  of  the  brain 
are  so  many  that  well-nigh  endless  forms  of 
speech  defect  occur.  All  impairment  of  speech  is 
called  Aphasia,  and  it  is  called  Motor  Aphasia 


THE   CONNECTION   OF   BODY  WITH    MIND.      115 

when  the  apparatus  is  damaged  on  the  side  of 
movement. 

If  the  fibres  coming  out  from  the  speech  zone 
be  impaired,  so  that  the  impulses  can  not  go  to  the 
muscles  of  articulation  and  breathing,  we  have 
Subcortical  Motor  Aphasia.  Its  peculiarity  is 
that  the  person  knows  perfectly  what  he  wants  to 
say,  but  yet  can  not  speak  the  words.  He  is  able 
to  read  silently,  can  understand  the  speech  of 
others,  and  can  remember  music;  but,  with  his  in- 
ability to  speak,  he  is  generally  also  unable  to 
write  or  to  perform  on  a  musical  instrument  (yet 
this  last  is  not  always  the  case).  Then  we  find 
new  variations  if  his  "lesion" — as  all  kinds  of 
local  nervous  defects  are  called — is  in  the  brain 
centre  in  the  Rolandic  region,  where  arise  the 
memories  of  the  movements  required.  In  this 
latter  case  the  aphasic  patient  can  readily  imitate 
speech  so  long  as  he  hears  it,  can  imitate  writing 
so  long  as  it  lies  before  him,  but  can  not  do  any 
independent  speaking  or  writing  for  himself.  With 
this  there  goes  another  fact  which  characterizes 
this  form  of  aphasia,  and  which  is  called  Cortical, 
as  opposed  to  the  Subcortical  Motor  Aphasia  de- 
scribed above,  that  the  person  may  not  be  able 
even  to  think  of  the  words  which  are  appropriate 
to  express  his  meaning.  This  is  the  case  when 
those  persons  who  depend  upon  the  memories  of 
the  movements  of  lip  and  tongue  in  their  normal 
speech  are  injured  as  described. 

Besides  the  two  forms  of  Motor  Aphasia  now 
spoken  of,  there  are  certain  other  speech  defects 
which  are  called  Sensory  Aphasia.  When  a  le- 
sion occurs  in  one  of  the  areas  of  the  brain  in  the 
speech  zone  in  which  the  requisite  memories  of 
words  seen  or  heard  have  their  seat — as  when  a 


Il6  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

ball  player  is  struck  over  the  sight  centre  in  the 
back  of  the  head — special  forms  of  sensory  apha- 
sia show  themselves.  The  ball  player  will,  in  this 
case,  have  Visual  Aphasia,  being  unable  to  speak 
in  proportion  as  he  is  accustomed  in  his  speak- 
ing to  depend  upon  the  images  of  written  or 
printed  words.  He  is  quite  unable  to  read  or 
write  from  a  copy  which  he  sees ;  but  he  may 
be  able,  nevertheless,  to  write  from  dictation,  and 
also  to  repeat  words  which  are  spoken  to  him. 
This  is  because  in  these  latter  performances  he 
uses  his  auditory  centre,  and  not  the  visual.  There 
are,  indeed,  some  persons  who  are  so  independent 
of  vision  that  the  loss  of  the  visual  centre  does 
not  much  impair  their  normal  speech. 

When,  again,  an  injury  comes  to  the  auditory 
centre  in  the  temporal  region,  we  find  the  con- 
verse of  the  case  just  described  ;  the  defect  is  then 
called  Auditory  Aphasia.  The  patient  can  not 
now  speak  or  write  words  which  he  hears,  and 
can  not  speak  spontaneously  in  proportion  as  he 
is  accustomed  to  depend  upon  his  memories  of 
the  word  sounds.  But  in  most  cases  he  can  still 
both  speak  and  write  printed  or  written  words 
which  he  sees  before  him. 

These  cases  may  serve  to  give  the  reader  an 
idea  of  the  remarkable  delicacy  and  complex- 
ity of  the  function  of  speech.  It  becomes  more 
evident  when,  instead  of  cases  of  gross  lesion, 
which  destroy  a  whole  centre,  or  cut  the  connec- 
tions between  centres,  we  have  disease  of  the 
brain  which  merely  destroys  a  few  cells  in  the 
gray  matter  here  or  there.  We  then  find  partial  loss 
of  speech,  such  as  is  seen  in  patients  who  lack 
only  certain  classes  of  words ;  perhaps  the  verbs, 
or  the  conjunctions,  or  proper  names,  etc.;  or  in 


THE   CONNECTION   OF   BODY  WITH   MIND.      117 

the  patients  who  speak,  but  yet  do  not  say  what 
they  mean ;  or,  again,  in  persons  who  have  two 
verbal  series  going  on  at  once,  one  of  which  they 
can  not  control,  and  which  they  often  attribute 
to  an  enemy  inside  them,  in  control  of  the  vocal 
organs,  or  to  a  persecutor  outside  whose  abuse 
they  can  not  avoid  hearing.  In  cases  of  violent 
sick  headache  we  often  miscall  objects  without 
detecting  it  ourselves,  and  in  delirium  the  speech 
mechanism  works  from  violent  organic  discharges 
altogether  without  control.  The  senile  old  man 
talks  nonsense — so-called  gibberish — thinking  he 
is  discoursing  properly. 

In  the  main  cases  of  Aphasia  of  distinct  sen- 
sory and  motor  types  psychological  analysis  is 
now  so  adequate  and  the  anatomical  localiza- 
tion so  far  advanced  that  the  physicians  have 
sufficient  basis  for  their  diagnosis,  and  make  in- 
ferences looking  toward  treatment.  Many  cases 
of  tumour,  of  clot  on  the  brain,  of  local  pressure 
from  the  skull,  .and  of  haemorrhage  or  stopping  up 
of  the  blood  vessels  in  a  limited  area,  have  been 
cured  through  the  indications  given  by  the  particu- 
lar forms  and  degrees  of  aphasia  shown  by  the  pa- 
tients. The  skull  is  opened  at  the  place  indicated 
by  the  defect  of  speech,  the  lesion  found  where 
the  diagnosis  suggested,  and  the  cause  removed. 

This  account  of  Localization  will  suggest  to 
the  reader  the  truth  that  there  is  no  science  of 
Phrenology.  No  progress  has  been  made  in  local- 
izing the  intelligence;  and  the  view  is  now  very 
general  that  the  whole  brain,  with  all  its  inter- 
change of  impulses  from  part  to  part,  is  involved 
in  thinking.  As  for  locating  particular  emotions 
and  qualities  of  temperament,  it  is  quite  absurd. 
Furthermore,  the  irregularities  of  the  skull  do  not 


Il8  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

indicate  local  brain  differences.  It  is  thought  that 
the  relative  weight  of  the  brain  may  be  an  indica- 
tion of  intellectual  endowment,  especially  when 
the  brain  weight  is  compared  with  the  weight  of 
the  rest  of  the  body,  and  that  culture  in  particu- 
lar lines  increases  the  surface  of  the  cortex  by 
deepening  and  multiplying  the  convolutions.  But 
these  statements  can  not  be  applied  off-hand  to 
individuals,  as  the  practise  of  phrenology  would 
require. 

Defects  of  Memory — Amnesia. — The  cases  given 
just  above,  where  the  failure  of  speech  was  seen 
to  be  due  to  the  loss  of  certain  memories  of  words, 
illustrate  also  a  series  of  mental  defects,  which  are 
classed  together  as  Amnesias.  Any  failure  in  mem- 
ory, except  the  normal  lapses  which  we  call  for- 
getfulness,  is  included  under  this  term.  Just  as 
the  loss  of  word  memories  occasions  inability  to 
speak,  so  that  of  other  sorts  of  memories  occa- 
sions other  functional  disturbances.  A  patient 
may  forget  objects,  and  so  not  know  how  to  use 
his  penknife  or  to  put  on  his  shoes.  He  may  for- 
get events,  and  so  give  false  witness  as  to  the  past. 

One  may  forget  himself  also,  and  so  have,  in 
some  degree,  a  different  character,  as  is  seen,  in 
an  exaggerated  way,  in  persons  who  have  so- 
called  Dual  Personality.  These  patients  sudden- 
ly fall  into  a  secondary  state,  in  which  they  forget 
all  the  events  of  their  ordinary  lives,  but  remem- 
ber all  the  events  of  the  earlier  periods  of  the  sec- 
ondary personality.  This  state  may  be  described 
as  "  general "  amnesia,  in  contrast  to  the  "  par- 
tial "  amnesia  of  the  other  cases  given,  in  which 
only  particular  classes  of  memories  are  impaired. 

The  impairment  of  memory  with  advancing 
years  also  illustrates  both  "general"  and  "par- 


THE   CONNECTION   OF   BODY   WITH    MIND.      119 

tial"  Amnesia.  The  old  man  loses  his  memory  of 
names,  then  of  other  words,  then  of  events,  and  so 
gradually  becomes  incapable  of  much  retention  of 
any  sort. 

Defects  of  Will — Aboulia. — A  few  words  may 
suffice  to  characterize  the  great  class  of  mental 
defects  which  arise  on  the  side  of  action.  All  in- 
ability to  perform  intentional  acts  is  called  Abou- 
lia, or  lack  of  Will.  Certain  defects  of  speech 
mentioned  above  illustrate  this  :  cases  in  which 
the  patient  knows  what  he  wishes  to  say  and  yet 
can  not  say  it.  This  is  the  type  of  all  the  "par- 
tial "  Aboulias.  There  may  be  no  lack  in  deter- 
mination and  effort,  yet  the  action  may  be  impos- 
sible. But,  in  contrast  with  this,  there  is  a  more 
grave  defect  called  "general  "  Aboulia.  Here  we 
find  a  weakening  of  resolution,  of  determination, 
associated  with  some  lack  of  self-control  showing 
itself  frequently  by  a  certain  hesitation  or  indeci- 
sion. The  patient  says :  "  I  can  not  make  up  my 
mind,"  "  I  can  not  decide."  In  exaggerated  cases 
it  becomes  a  form  of  mania  called  "  insanity  of 
doubt."  The  patient  stands  before  a  door  for  an 
hour  hesitating  as  to  whether  he  can  open  it  or  not, 
or  carries  to  its  extreme  the  experience  we  all  some- 
times have  of  finding  it  necessary  to  return  again 
and  again  to  make  sure  that  we  have  locked  the 
door  or  shut  the  draught  of  the  furnace. 

With  these  illustrations  our  notice  of  mental 
defects  may  terminate.  The  more  complex 
troubles,  the  various  insanities,  manias,  phobias, 
etc.,  can  not  be  briefly  described.  Moreover,  they 
are  still  wrapped  in  the  profoundest  obscurity.  To 
the  psychologist,  however,  there  are  certain  guid- 
ing principles  through  the  maze  of  facts,  and  I 
may  state  them  in  conclusion. 


120  THE   STORY   OF   THE  MIND. 

First,  all  mental  troubles  involve  diseases  of  the 
brain  and  can  be  cured  only  as  the  brain  is  cured. 
It  does  not  follow,  of  course,  that  in  certain  cases 
treatment  by  mental  agencies,  such  as  suggestion, 
arousing  of  expectation,  faith,  etc.,  may  not  be 
more  helpful  here,  when  wisely  employed,  than  in 
troubles  which  do  not  involve  the  mind ;  but  yet 
the  end  to  be  attained  is  a  physical  as  well  as  a 
mental  cure,  and  the  means  in  the  present  state  of 
knowledge,  at  any  rate,  are  mainly  physical 
means.  The  psychologist  knows  practically  noth- 
ing about  the  laws  which  govern  the  influence  of 
mind  on  body.  The  principle  of  Suggestion  is 
so  obscure  in  its  concrete  working  that  the  most 
practised  and  best-informed  operators  find  it  im- 
possible to  control  its  use  or  to  predict  its  results. 
To  give  countenance,  in  this  state  of  things,  to 
any  pretended  system  or  practice  of  mind  cure, 
Christian  science,  spiritual  healing,  etc.,  which 
leads  to  the  neglect  of  ordinary  medical  treatment, 
is  to  discredit  the  legitimate  practice  of  medi- 
cine and  to  let  loose  an  enemy  dangerous  to  the 
public  health. 

Moreover,  such  things  produce  a  form  of  hys- 
terical subjectivism  which  destroys  sound  judg- 
ment, and  dissolves  the  sense  of  reality  which  it 
has  taken  modern  science  many  generations  to 
build  up.  Science  has  all  along  had  to  combat  such 
wresting  of  its  more  obscure  and  unexplained 
facts  into  alliance  with  the  ends  of  practical 
quackery,  fraud,  and  superstition  ;  and  psycholo- 
gists need  just  now  to  be  especially  alive  to  their 
duty  of  combating  the  forms  of  this  alliance 
which  arise  when  the  newer  results  of  psychology 
are  so  used,  whether  it  be  to  supplement  the  in- 
adequate evidence  of  "  thought-transference,"  to 


THE   CONNECTION   OF   BODY  WITH   MIND.       121 

support  the  claims  of  spiritualism,  or  to  justify  in  the 
name  of  "personal  liberty"  the  substitution  of  a 
"healer"  for  the  trained  physician.  The  parent 
who  allows  his  child  to  die  under  the  care  of  a 
"Christian  Science  healer"  is  as  much  a  criminal 
from  neglect  as  the  one  who,  going  but  a  step 
further  in  precisely  the  same  direction,  brings  his 
child  to  starvation  on  a  diet  of  faith.  In  France 
and  Russia  experimenting  in  hypnotism  on  well 
persons  has  been  restricted  by  law  to  licensed 
experts;  what,  compared  with  that,  shall  we  say 
to  this  wholly  amateurish  experimenting  with  the 
diseased  ?  Let  the  "  healer  "  heal  all  he  can,  but 
let  him  not  experiment  to  the  extremity  of  life 
and  death  with  the  credulity  and  superstition  of 
the  people  who  think  one  "  doctor  "  is  as  good  as 
another. 

Second,  many  experts  agree  that  diseases  of  the 
mind,  whatever  their  brain  seat  may  be,  all-  in- 
volve impairment  of  the  Attention.  This,  at  any 
rate,  is  a  general  mark  of  a  deranged  or  defective 
mind.  The  idiot  lacks  power  of  attention.  The 
maniac  lacks  control  of  his  attention.  The  de- 
luded lacks  grasp  and  flexibility  of  attention. 
The  crank  can  only  attend  to  one  thing.  The  old 
man  is  feeble  in  the  attention,  having  lost  his 
hold.  So  it  goes.  The  attention  is  the  instru- 
ment of  the  one  sort  of  normal  mental  activity 
called  Apperception,  and  so  impairment  of  the 
attention  shows  itself  at  once  in  some  particular 
form  of  defect. 

Third,  it  is  interesting  to  know  that  in  pro- 
gressive mental  failure  the  loss  of  the  powers  of 
the  mind  takes  place  in  an  order  which  is  the  re- 
verse of  that  of  their  original  acquisition.  The 
most  complex  functions,  which  are  acquired  last, 


122  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

are  the  first  to  show  impairment.  In  cases  of 
general  degeneration,  softening  of  the  brain,  etc., 
the  intelligence  and  moral  nature  are  first  affected, 
then  memory,  association,  and  acquired  actions  of 
all  sorts,  while  there  remain,  latest  of  all,  actions 
of  the  imitative  kind,  most  of  the  deep-set  habits, 
and  the  instinctive,  reflex,  and  automatic  functions, 
This  last  condition  is  seen  in  the  wretched  victim 
of  dementia  and  in  the  congenital  idiot.  The 
latter  has,  in  addition  to  his  life  processes  and  in- 
stincts, little  more  than  the  capacity  for  parrot- 
like  imitation.  By  this  he  acquires  the  very  few 
items  of  his  education. 

The  recovery  of  the  patient  shows  the- same 
stages  again,  but  in  the  reversed  direction ;  he 
pursues  the  order  of  the  original  acquisition,  a 
process  which  physicians  call  Re-evolution. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

HOW    WE    EXPERIMENT     ON     THE     MIND EXPERI- 
MENTAL   PSYCHOLOGY. 

IN  recent  years  the  growth  of  the  method  of 
experimenting  with  bodies  in  laboratories  in 
the  different  sciences  has  served  to  raise  the 
question  whether  the  mind  may  not  be  experi- 
mented with  also.  This  question  has  been  solved 
in  so  far  that  psychologists  produce  artificial 
changes  in  the  stimulations  to  the  senses  and  in 
the  arrangements  of  the  objects  and  conditions 
existing  about  a  person,  and  so  secure  changes 
also  in  his  mental  states.  What  we  have  seen  of 
Physiological  Psychology  illustrates  this  general 


HOW  WE   EXPERIMENT   ON   THE    MIND.        123 

way  of  proceeding,  for  in  such  studies,  changes  in 
the  physiological  processes,  as  in  breathing,  etc., 
are  considered  as  causing  changes  in  the  mind. 
In  Experimental  Psychology,  however,  as  distin- 
guished from  Physiological  Psychology,  we  agree 
to  take  only  those  influences  which  are  outside  the 
body,  such  as  light,  sound,  temperature,  etc., 
keeping  the  subject  as  normal  as  possible  in  all 
respects. 

A  great  many  laboratories  have  now  been  es- 
tablished in  connection  with  the  universities  in 
Germany,  France,  and  the  United  States.  They 
differ  very  much  from  one  another,  but  their  com- 
mon purpose  is  so  to  experiment  upon  the  mind, 
through  changes  in  the  stimulations  to  which  the 
individual  is  subjected,  that  tests  may  be  made  of 
his  sensations,  his  ability  to  remember,  the  exact- 
ness and  kind  of  movements,  etc. 

The  working  of  these  laboratories  and  the  sort 
of  research  carried  out  in  them  may  be  illustrated 
best,  perhaps,  by  a  description  of  some  of  the 
results,  apparatus,  methods,  etc.,  employed  in  my 
own  laboratory  during  the  past  year.  The  end  in 
view  will,  I  trust,  be  considered  sufficient  justifica- 
tion for  the  degree  of  personal  reference  which 
this  occasions ;  since  greater  concreteness  and 
reality  attach  to  definite  descriptions  such  as  this. 
The  other  laboratories,  as  those  at  Harvard  and 
Columbia  Universities,  take  up  similar  problems  by 
similar  methods.  I  shall  therefore  go  on  to  describe 
some  recent  work  in  the  Princeton  laboratory. 

Of  the  problems  taken  up  in  the  laboratory, 
certain  ones  may  be  selected  for  somewhat  de- 
tailed explanation,  since  they  are  from  widely  dif- 
ferent spheres  and  illustrate  different  methods  of 
procedure. 


124  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

I.  Experiments  on  the  Temperature  Sense. — For  a 
score  of  years  it  has  been  suspected  that  we  have 
a  distinct  sense,  with  a  nerve  apparatus  of  its  own, 
for  the  feeling  of  different  temperatures  on  the 
skin.  Certain  investigators  found  that  this  was 
probably  true ;  it  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  certain 
drugs  alter  the  sensibility  of  the  skin  to  hot  and 
cold  stimulations. 

Another  advance  was  made  when  it  was  found 
that  sensations  of  either  hot  or  cold  may  be  had 
from  regions  which  are  insensible  at  the  same 
time  to  the  other  sort  of  stimulation,  cold  or  hot. 
Certain  minute  points  were  discovered  which  re- 
port cold  when  touched  with  a  cold  point,  but  give 
no  feeling  from  a  hot  object  ;  while  other  points 
would  respond  only- with  a  sensation  from  heat, 
never  giving  cold.  It  was  concluded  that  we  have 
two  temperature  senses,  one  for  hot  and  the  other 
for  cold. 

Taking  the  problem  at  this  point,  Mr.  C.* 
wished  to  define  more  closely  the  relation  of  the 
two  sorts  of  sensation  to  each  other,  and  thought 
he  could  do  so  by  a  method  by  which  he  might 
repeat  the  stimulation  of  a  series  of  exact  spots, 
very  minute  points  on  the  skin,  over  and  over 
again,  thus  securing  a  number  of  records  of 
the  results  for  both  hot  and  cold  over  a  given 
area.  He  chose  an  area  of  skin  on  the  forearm, 
shaved  it  carefully,  and  proceeded  to  explore  it 
with  the  smallest  points  of  metals  which  could  be 
drawn  along  the  skin  without  pricking  or  tearing. 
These  points  were  attached  to  metallic  cylinders, 
and  around  the  cylinders  rubber  bands  were 
placed ;  the  cylinders  were  then  thrust  in  hot  or 

*  Mr.  J.  F.  Crawford,  graduate  student. 


HOW  WE   EXPERIMENT   ON   THE   MIND.       125 

cold  water  kept  at  certain  regular  temperatures, 
and  lifted  by  the  rubber  bands.  They  were  placed 
point  down,  with  equal  pressure,  upon 'the  points 
of  the  skin  in  the  area  chosen.  In  this  way,  points 
which  responded  only  to  hot,  and  also  those  re- 
sponding only  to  cold,  were  found,  .marked  with 
delicate  ink  marks  in  each  case,  until  the  whole 
area  was  explored  and  marked  in  different  colours. 
This  had  often  been  done  before.  It  remained 
to  devise  a  way  of  keeping  these  records,  so  that 
the  markings  might  all  be  removed  from  the  skin, 
and  new  explorations  made  over  the  same  surface. 
This  was  necessary  in  order  to  see  whether  the 
results  secured  were  always  the  same.  The  theory 
that  there  were  certain  nervous  endings  in  the 
skin  corresponding  to  the  little  points  required 
that  each  spot  should  be  in  exactly  the  same  place 
whenever  the  experiment  was  repeated. 

Mr.  C.  made  a  number  of  so-called  "  trans- 
parent transfer  frames."  They  are  rectangular 
pieces  of  cardboard,  with  windows  cut  in  them. 
The  windows  are  covered  with  thin  architect's 
paper,  which  is  very  transparent.  This  frame  is 
put  over  the  forearm  in  such  a  way  that  the  paper 
in  the  window  comes  over  the  markings  made  on 
the  arm.  The  markings  show  through  very 
clearly,  and  the  points  are  copied  on  the  paper. 
Then  certain  boundary  marks  at  the  corners  are 
made,  both  on  the  paper  and  on  the  arm,  at  ex- 
actly the  same  places,  the  frame  is  removed,  and 
all  the  markings  on  the  arm  are  erased  except  the 
boundary  points.  The  result  is  that  at  any  time 
the  frames  can  be  put  over  the  arm  again  by 
matching  the  boundary  points,  and  then  the. origi- 
nal temperature  spots  on  the  skin  will  be  shown 
by  the  markings  on  the  paper  window. 


126  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

Proceeding  to  repeat  the  exploration  of  the 
same  area  in  this  way,  Mr.  C.  makes  records  of 
many  groupings  of  points  for  both  hot  and  cold 
sensations  on  the  same  area;  he  then  puts  the 
frames  one  upon  another,  holds  them  up  before  a 
window  so  that  they  have  a  bright  background, 
and  is  thus  able  to  see  at  a  glance  how  nearly  the 
results  of  the  different  sittings  correspond. 

His  results,  put  very  briefly,  fail  to  confirm  the 
theory  that  the  sense  of  temperature  has  an  appa- 
ratus of  fixed  spots  for  heat  and  other  fixed  spots 
for  cold.  For  when  he  puts  the  different  markings 
for  heat  together  he  finds  that  the  spots  are  not 
the  same,  but  that  those  of  one  frame  fall  between 
those  of  another,  and  if  several  are  put  together 
the  points  fill  up  a  greater  or  smaller  area.  The 
same  for  the  cold  spots;  they  fill  a  continuous 
area.  He  finds,  however,  as  other  investigators 
have  found,  that  the  heat  areas  are  generally  in 
large  measure  separate  from  the  cold  areas,  only 
to  a  certain  extent  overlapping  here  and  there, 
and  also  that  there  are  regions  of  the  skin  where 
we  have  very  little  sense  of  either  sort  of  tem- 
perature. 

The  general  results  will  show,  therefore,  if  they 
should  be  confirmed  by  other  investigators,  that 
our  temperature  sense  is  located  in  what  might  be 
called  somewhat  large  blotches  on  the  skin,  and 
not  in  minute  spots;  while  the  evidence  still  re- 
mains good,  however,  to  show  that  we  have  two 
senses  for  temperature,  one  for  cold  and  the  other 
for  hot. 

II.  Reaction -Time  Experiments. — Work  in  so- 
called  "reaction  times"  constitutes  one  of  the 
most  important  and  well-developed  chapters  in  ex- 
perimental psychology.  In  brief,  the  experiment 


HOW  WE   EXPERIMENT   ON   THE   MIND.       127 

involved  is  this:  To  find  how  long  it  takes  a  per- 
son to  receive  a  sense  impression  of  any  kind — for 
example,  to  hear  a  sound-signal — and  to  move  his 
hand  or  other  member  in  response  to  the  impres- 
sion. A  simple  arrangement  is  as  follows :  Sit  the 
subject  comfortably,  tap  a  bell  in  such  a  way  that 
the  tapping  also  makes  an  electric  current  and 
starts  a  clock,  and  instruct  the  subject  to  press  a 
button  with  his  finger  as  soon  as  possible  after  he 
hears  the  bell.  The  pressing  of  the  button  by  him 
breaks  the  current  and  stops  the  clock.  The  dial 
of  the  clock  indicates  the  actual  time  which  has 
elapsed  between  the  bell  (signal)  and  his  response 
with  his  finger  (reaction).  The  clock  used  for 
exact  work  is  likely  to  be  the  Hipp  chronoscope, 
which  gives  on  its  dials  indications  of  time  inter- 
vals in  thousandths  of  a  second.  For  the  sake  of 
keeping  the  conditions  constant  and  preventing 
disturbance,  the  wires  are  made  long,  so  that  the 
clock  and  the  experimenter  may  be  in  one  room, 
while  the  bell,  the  punch  key,  and  the  subject  are 
in  another,  with  the  door  closed.  This  method  of 
getting  reaction  times  has  been  in  use  for  a  num- 
ber of  years,  especially  by  the  astronomers  who 
need  to  know,  in  making  their  observations,  how 
much  time  is  taken  by  the  observer  in  recording  a 
transit  or  other  observation.  It  is  part  of  the  as- 
tronomer's "  personal  equation." 

Proceeding  with  this  "  simple-reaction  "  experi- 
ment as  a  basis,  the  psychologists  have  varied  the 
instructions  to  the  subject  so  as  to  secure  from 
him  the  different  times  which  he  takes  for  more 
complicated  mental  processes,  such  as  distinguish- 
ing between  two  or  more  impressions,  counting, 
multiplying,  dividing,  etc.,  before  reacting;  or  they 
have  him  wait  for  an  associated  idea  to  come  up 

10 


128  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

before  giving  his  response,  with  many  other  varia- 
tions. By  comparing  these  different  times  among 
themselves,  interesting  results  are  reached  con- 
cerning the  mental  processes  involved  and  also 
about  the  differences  of  different  individuals  in  the 
simpler  operations  of  their  daily  lives.  The  fol- 
lowing research  carried  out  by  Mr.  B.*  serves  to 
illustrate  both  of  these  assertions. 

Mr.  B.  wished  to  inquire  further  into  a  fact 
found  out  by  several  persons  by  this  method:  the 
fact  that  there  is  an  important  difference  in  the 
length  of  a  person's  reaction  time  according  to 
the  direction  of  his  attention  during  the  experi- 
ment. If,  for  example,  Mr.  X.  be  tested,  it  is  pos- 
sible that  he  may  prefer  to  attend  strictly  to  the 
signal,  letting  his  finger  push  the  key  without  direct 
care  and  supervision.  If  this  be  true,  and  we  then 
interfere  with  his  way  of  proceeding,  by  telling  him 
that  he  must  attend  to  his  finger,  and  allow  the 
signal  to  take  care  of  itself,  we  find  that  he  has 
great  difficulty  in  doing  so,  grows  embarrassed, 
and  his  reaction  time  becomes  very  irregular  and 
much  longer.  Yet  another  person,  say  Y,  may 
show  just  the  opposite  state  of  things;  he  finds  it 
easier  to  pay  attention  to  his  hand,  and  when  he 
does  so  he  gets  shorter  and  also  more  regular 
times  than  when  he  attends  to  the  signal-sound. 

It  occurred  to  Mr.  B.  that  the  striking  differ- 
ences given  by  different  persons  in  this  matter  of 
the  most  favourable  direction  of  the  attention 
might  be  connected  with  the  facts  brought  out  by 
the  physiological  psychologists  in  connection 
with  speech ;  namely,  that  one  person  is  a  "  vis- 
ual," in  speaking,  using  mainly  sight  images  of 

*  The  writer. 


HOW  WE   EXPERIMENT   ON   THE   MIND.       129 

words,  while  another  is  a  "motor,"  using  mainly 
muscular  images,  and  yet  another  an  "auditive," 
using  mainly  sound  images.  If  the  differences 
are  so  marked  in  the  matter  of  speech,  it  seemed 
likely  that  they  might  also  extend  to  other  func- 
tions, and  the  so-called  "  type  "  of  a  person  in  his 
speech  might  show  itself  in  the  relative  lengths 
of  his  reaction  times  according  as  he  attended  to 
one  class  of  images  or  another. 

Calling  this  the  "  type  theory "  of  reaction 
times,  and  setting  about  testing  four  different 
persons  in  the  laboratory,  the  problem  was  di- 
vided into  two  parts ;  first,  to  direct  all  the  indi- 
viduals selected  to  find  out,  by  examining  their 
mental  preferences  in  speaking,  reading,  writing, 
dreaming,  etc.,  the  class  of  images  which  they  or- 
dinarily depended  most  upon ;  and  then  to  see 
by  a  series  of  experiments  whether  their  reac- 
tion times  to  these  particular  classes  of  im- 
ages were  shorter  than  to  others,  and  especially 
whether  the  times  were  shorter  when  attention 
was  given  to  these  images  than  when  it  was  given 
to  the  muscles  used  in  the  reactions.  The  mean- 
ing of  this  would  be  that  if  the  reaction  should  be 
shorter  to  these  images  than  to  the  correspond- 
ing muscle  images,  or  to  the  other  classes  of  images, 
then  the  reaction  time  of  an  individual  would 
show  his  mental  type  and  be  of  use  in  testing  it. 
This  would  be  a  very  important  matter  if  it  should 
hold,  seeing  that  many  questions  both  in  medicine 
and  in  education,  which  involve  the  ascertaining 
of  the  mental  character  of  the  individual  person, 
would  profit  by  such  an  exact  method. 

The  results  on  all  the  subjects  confirmed  the 
supposition.  For  example,  one  of  them,  Mr.  C., 
found  from  an  independent  examination  of  him- 


130  THE   STORY  OF   THE   MIND. 

self,  most  carefully  made,  that  he  depended  very 
largely  upon  his  hearing  in  all  the  functions 
mentioned.  When  he  thought  of  words,  he  re- 
membered how  they  sounded ;  when  he  dreamed, 
his  dreams  were  full  of  conversation  and  other 
sounds.  When  he  wrote,  he  thought  continually 
of  the  way  the  words  and  sentences  would  sound 
if  spoken.  Without  knowing  of  this,  many  series 
of  reaction  experiments  were  made  on  him ;  the 
result  showed  a  remarkable  difference  between 
the  lengths  of  his  reactions,  according  as  he  di- 
rected his  attention  to  the  sound  or  to  his  hand; 
a  difference  showing  his  time  to  be  one  half 
shorter  when  he  paid  attention  to  the  sound.  The 
same  was  seen  when  he  reacted  to  lights ;  the 
attention  went  preferably  to  the  light,  not  to  the 
hand ;  but  the  difference  was  less  than  in  the  case 
of  sounds.  So  it  was  an  unmistakable  fact  in  his 
case  that  the  results  of  the  reaction  experiments 
agreed  with  his  independent  decision  as  to  his 
mental  type. 

In  none  of  the  cases  did  this  correspondence 
fail,  although  all  were  not  so  pronounced  in  their 
type  preferences  as  was  Mr.  C. 

The  second  part  of  the  research  had  in  view 
the  question  whether  reaction  times  taken  upon 
speech  would  show  the  same  thing ;  that  is, 
whether  in  Mr.  C.'s  case,  for  example,  it  would 
be  found  that  his  reaction  made  by  speaking,  as 
soon  as  he  heard  the  signal  or  saw  the  light,  would 
be  shorter  when  he  paid  attention  to  the  signal 
than  when  he  gave  attention  to  his  mouth  and 
lips.  For  this  purpose  a  mouth  key  was  used 
which  made  it  possible  for  the  subject  simply  by 
emitting  a  puff  of  breath  from  the  lips,  to  break 
an  electric  current  and  thus  stop  the  chronoscope 


HOW   WE   EXPERIMENT   ON   THE   MIND.       131 

as  soon  as  possible  after  hearing  the  signal.     The 
mouth  key  is  figured  herewith  (Fig.  6). 

This  experiment  was  also  carried  out  on  all 
the  subjects,  none  of  them  having  any  knowledge 
of  the  end  in  view,  and  the  experimenters  also  not 
having,  as  yet,  worked  out  the  results  of  the  ear- 
lier research.  In  all  the  cases,  again,  the  results 


FlG.  6. — Mouth-key  (Isometric  drawing).  The  metallic  tongue  E 
swings  over  the  mercury  H,  making  or  breaking  the  circuit 
AHEDB  or  CEHA.  The  tongue  is  moved  by  a  puff  of 
air  through  the  funnel  F.  (Devised  by  Prof.  W.  Libbey.) 

showed  that,  for  speech,  the  same  thing  held  as 
for  the  hand — namely,  that  the  shortest  reaction 
times  were  secured  when  the  subject  paid  atten- 
tion to  the  class  of  images  for  which  he  had  a 
general  preference.  In  Mr.  C.'s  case,  for  example, 
it  was  found  that  the  time  it  took  him  to  speak 
was  much  shorter  when  he  paid  strict  attention  tc? 


132  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

the  expected  sound  than  when  he  attended  to  his 
vocal  organs.  So  for  the  other  cases.  If  the 
individual's  general  preference  is  for  muscular 
images,  we  find  that  the  quickest  time  is  made 
when  attention  is  given  to  the  mouth  and  lips. 
Such  is  the  case  with  Mr.  B. 

The  general  results  go  to  show,  therefore — and 
four  cases  showing  no  exception,  added  to  the 
indications  found  by  other  writers,  make  a  gen- 
eral conclusion  very  probable — that  in  the  differ- 
ences in  reaction  times,  as  secured  by  giving  the 
attention  this  way  or  that,  we  have  general  indi- 
cations of  the  individual's  temperament,  or  at  least 
of  his  mental  preferences  as  set  by  his  education. 
These  indications  agree  with  those  found  in  the 
cases  of  aphasia  known  as  "motor,"  "visual," 
"auditory,"  etc.,  already  mentioned.  The  early 
examination  of  children  by  this  method  would 
probably  be  of  great  service  in  determining  prop- 
er courses  of  treatment,  subjects  of  study,  modes 
of  discipline,  tendencies  to  fatigue  and  embar- 
rassment, and  the  direction  of  best  progress  in 
education. 

This  research  may  be  taken  to  illustrate  the 
use  of  the  reaction-time  method  in  investiga- 
ting such  complex  processes  as  attention,  tem- 
perament, etc.  The  department  which  includes 
the  various  time  measurements  in  psychology  is 
now  called  Mental  Chronometry,  the  older  term, 
Psychometry,  being  less  used  on  account  of  its 
ambiguity. 

III.  An  Optical  Illusion. — In  the  sphere  of  vi- 
sion many  very  interesting  facts  are  constantly 
coming  to  light.  Sight  is  the  most  complex  of 
the  senses,  the  most  easily  deranged,  and,  withal, 
the  most  necessary  to  our  normal  existence.  The 


HOW  WE   EXPERIMENT   ON   THE    MIND.       133 

report  of  the  following  experimental  study  will 
have  the  greater  utility,  since,  apart  from  any  in- 
trinsic novelty  or  importance  the  results  may 
prove  to  have,  it  shows  some  of  the  general  bear- 
ings of  the  facts  of  vision  in  relation  to  ^Esthetics, 
to  the  theory  of  Illusions,  and  to  the  function  of 
Judgment. 

Illusion  of  the  senses  is  due  either  to  purely 
physiological  causes  or  to  the  operation  of  the 
principle  of  Assimilation,  which  has  already  been 
remarked  upon.  In  the  latter  case  it  illustrates 
the  fact  that  at  any  time  there  is  a  general  dis- 
position of  the  mind  to  look  upon  a  thing  under 
certain  forms,  patterns,  etc.,  to  which  it  has  grown 
accustomed  ;  and  to  do  this  it  is  led  sometimes  to 
distort  what  it  sees  or  hears  unconsciously  to 
itself.  So  it  falls  into  errors  of  judgment  through 
the  trap  which  is  set  by  its  own  manner  of  work- 
ing. Nowhere  is  the  matter  better  illustrated  than 
in  the  sphere  of  vision.  The  number  of  illusions 
of  vision  is  remarkable.  We  are  constantly  tak- 
ing shapes  and  forms  for  something  slightly  differ- 
ent from  what,  by  measurement,  we  actually  find 
them  to  be.  And  psychologists  are  attempting — 
with  rather  poor  success  so  far — to  find  some 
general  principles  of  the  mechanism  of  vision 
which  will  account  for  the  great  variety  of  its  illu- 
sions. 

Among  these  principles  one  is  known  as  Con- 
trast. It  is  hardly  a  principle  as  yet.  It  is  rather 
a  word  used  to  cover  all  illusions  which  spring  up 
when  surfaces  of  different  sizes  and  shapes,  looked 
at  together  or  successively,  are  misjudged  with 
reference  to  one  another.  Wishing  to  investigate 
this  in  a  simple  way,  the  following  experiment  was 
planned  and  carried  out  by  Mr.  B. 


134  THE   STORY  OF   THE    MIND. 

He  wished  to  find  out  whether,  if  two  detached 
surfaces  of  different  sizes  be  gazed  at  together,  the 
linear  distances  of  the  field  of  vision  (the  whole 
scene  visible  at  once)  would  be  at  all  misjudged. 
To  test  this,  he  put  in  the  window  (W)  *  of  the 
dark  room  a  filling  of  white  cardboard  in  which 
two  square  holes  had  been  cut  (S  S').  The  sides  of 
the  squares  were  of  certain  very  unequal  lengths. 
Then  a  slit  was  made  between  the  middle  points  of 
the  sides  of  the  squares  next  to  each  other,  so  that 
there  was  a  narrow  path  or  trough  joining  the 
squares  between  their  adjacent  sides.  Inside  the 
dark  room  he  arranged  a  bright  light  so  that  it 
would  illuminate  this  trough,  but  not  be  seen  by  a 
person  seated  some  distance  in  front  of  the  win- 
dow in  the  next  room.  A  needle  (D)  was  hung  on 
a  pivot  behind  the  cardboard,  so  that  its  point 
could  move  along  the  bright  trough  in  either  di- 
rection ;  and  on  the  needle  was  put  the  armature 
(A)  of  an  electro-magnet  which,  when  a  current 
passed,  would  be  drawn  instantly  to  the  magnet 
(E),  and  so  stop  the  needle  exactly  at  the  point 
which  it  had  then  reached.  A  clock  motor  (Cm) 
was  arranged  in  such  a  way  as  to  carry  the  needle 
back  and  forth  regularly  over  the  slit ;  and  the 
electro-magnet  was  connected  by  wires  with  a 
punch  key  (K)  on  a  table  beside  the  subject  in 
the  next  room.  All  being  now  ready,  the  subject, 
Mr.  S.,  is  told  to  watch  the  needle  which  appears 
as  a  bead  of  light  travelling  along  the  slit,  and 
stop  it  when  it  comes  to  the  middle  point  of  the 
line,  by  pressing  the  electric  key.  The  experi- 
menter, who  stands  behind  the  window  in  the  dark 
room,  reads  on  a  scale  (mm.)  marked  in  millime- 

*  This  and  the  following  letters  in  parentheses  refer  to  Fig.  7 


HOW   WE   EXPERIMENT   ON   THE   MIND.       135 

tres  the  exact  point  at  which  the  needle  stops,  re- 
leases the  needle  by  breaking  the  current,  thus 


allowing  it  to  return  slowly  over  the  line  again. 
This  gives   the   subject   another   opportunity  to 


136  THE  STORY   OF  THE    MIND. 

stop  it  at  what  he  judges  to  be  the  exact  middle 
of  the  line,  and  so  on.  The  accompanying  figure 
(Fig.  7)  shows  the  entire  arrangement. 

A  great  many  experiments  performed  in  this 
way,  with  the  squares  set  both  vertically  and 
horizontally,  and  with  several  persons,  brought  a 
striking  and  very  uniform  result.  The  point 
selected  by  the  subject  as  the  middle  is  regu- 
larly too  far  toward  the  smaller  square.  Not  a 
little,  indeed,  but  a  very  appreciable  amount. 
The  amount  of  the  displacement,  or,  roughly 
speaking,  of  the  illusion,  increases  as  the  larger 
square  is  made  larger  and  the  smaller  one 
smaller  ;  or,  put  in  a  sentence,  the  amount  varies 
directly  with  the  ratio  of  the  smaller  to  the  larger 
square  side. 

Finding  such  an  unmistakable  illusion  by  this 
method,  Mr.  B.  thought  that  if  it  could  be  tested 
by  an  appeal  to  people  generally,  it  would  be  of 
great  gain.  It  occurred  to  him  that  the  way  to 
do  this  would  be  to  reverse  the  conditions  of  the 
experiment  in  the  following  way :  He  prepared 
the  figures  given  in  Plate  I,  in  which  the  two 
squares  are  made  of  suitable  relative  size,  a  line 
is  drawn  between  them,  and  a  point  on  the  line 
is  plainly  marked.  This  he  had  printed  in  a 
weekly  journal,  and  asked  the  readers  of  the 
journal  to  get  their  friends,  after  merely  looking 
at  the  figure  (i.  e.,  without  knowing  the  result  to 
be  expected),  to  say — as  the  reader  may  now  do 
before  reading  further — whether  the  point  on  the 
line  (Plate  I)  is  in  the  middle  or  not;  and  if  not, 
in  which  direction  from  the  true  middle  it  lies. 
The  results  from  hundreds  of  persons  of  all  man- 
ner of  occupations,  ages,  and  of  both  sexes,  agree 
in  saying  that  the  point  lies  too  far  toward  the 


o 


HOW  WE   EXPERIMENT   ON   THE   MIND.        137 

larger  square.  In  reality  it  is  in  the  exact  middle. 
This  is  just  the.  opposite  of  the  result  of  the  ex- 
periments in  the  laboratory,  where  the  conditions 
were  the  reverse,  i.  e.,  to  find  the  middle  as  it  ap- 
pears to  the  eye.  Here,  therefore,  we  have  a  com- 
plete confirmation  of  the  illusion  ;  and  it  is  now 
fully  established  that  in  all  cases  in  which  the 
conditions  of  this  experiment  are  realized  we 
make  a  constant  mistake  in  estimating  distances 
by  the  eye.* 

For  instance,  if  a  town  committee  wish  to  erect 
a  statue  to  their  local  hero  in  the  public  square, 
and  if  on  two  opposite  sides  of  the  square  there 
are  buildings  of  very  different  heights,  the  statue 
should  not  be  put  in  the  exact  middle  of  the 
square,  if  it  is  to  give  the  best  effect  from  a  dis- 
tance. It  should  be  placed  a  little  toward  the 
smaller  building.  A  colleague  of  the  writer  found, 
when  this  was  first  made  public,  that  the  pictures 
in  his  house  had  actually  been  hung  in  such  a  way 
as  to  allow  for  this  illusion.  Whenever  a  picture 
was  to  be  put  up  between  two  others  of  considera- 
ble difference  of  size,  or  between  a  door  (large)  and 
a  window  (small),  it  had  actually  been  hung  a  lit- 
tle nearer  to  the  smaller — toward  the  small  pic- 
ture or  toward  the  window — and  not  in  the  true 
middle. 

It  is  probable  that  interesting  applications  of 
this  illusion  may  be  discovered  in  aesthetics.  For 
wherever  in  drawing  or  painting  it  is  wished  to 
indicate  to  the  observer  that  a  point  is  midway 

*  In  redrawing  the  figure  on  a  larger  sheet  (which  is  rec- 
ommended), the  connecting  line  may  be  omitted,  only  the 
mid-point  being  marked.  Some  get  a  better  effect  with  two 
circles,  the  intervening  distance  being  divided  midway  by  a 
dot,  as  in  Plate  IL 


138  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

between  two  lines  of  different  lengths,  we  should 
find  that  the  artist,  in  order  to  produce  this  effect 
most  adequately,  deviates  a  little  from  the  true 
middle.  So  in  architecture,  the  effect  of  a  con- 
trast of  masses  often  depends  upon  the  sense 
of  bilateral  balance,  symmetry,  or  equality,  in 
which  this  visual  error  would  naturally  come  into 
play.  Indeed,  it  is  only  necessary  to  recall  to  mind 
that  one  of  the  principal  laws  of  aesthetic  effect 
in  the  matter  of  right  line  proportion  is  the  rela- 
tion of  "one  to  one,"  as  it  is  called,  or  equal  divi- 
sion, to  see  the  wide  sphere  of  application  of  this 
illusion.  In  all  such  cases  the  mistake  of.  judg- 
ment would  have  to  be  allowed  for  if  masses  of 
unequal  size  lie  at  the  ends  of  the  line  which  is  to 
be  divided. 

IV.  The  Accuracy  of  Memory. — Another  in- 
vestigation may  be  cited  to  illustrate  quite  a  dif- 
ferent department.  It  aimed  to  find  out  some- 
thing about  the  rate  at  which  memory  fades  with 
the  lapse  of  time.  Messrs.  W.,  S.,  and  B.*  began 
by  formulating  the  different  ways  in  which  tests 
may  be  made  on  individuals  to  see  how  accurate 
their  memories  are  after  different  periods  of  time. 
They  found  that  three  different  tests  might  be 
employed,  and  called  them  "methods"  of  investi- 
gating memory.  These  are,  first,  the  method  of 
Reproduction.  The  individual  is  asked  to  re- 
produce, as  in  an  oral  or  written  examination,  what 
he  remembers  of  something  told  him  a  certain 
time  before.  This  is  the  ordinary  method  of  the 
schools  and  colleges,  of  civil-service  examina- 
tions, etc.  Second,  the  method  of  Identifica- 
tion, which  calls  upon  the  person  to  identify  a 

*  Prof.  H.  C.  Warren,  Mr.  W.  J.  Shaw,  and  the  writer. 


HOW  WE   EXPERIMENT  ON   THE   MIND.       139 

thing,  sentence,  report,  etc.,  a  second  or  third 
time,  as  being  the  same  in  all  respects  as  that 
which  he  experienced  the  first  time  it  appeared. 
Third,  the  method  of  Selection,  in  which  we 
show  to  the  person  a  number  of  things,  sentences, 
reports,  descriptions  of  objects,  etc.,  and  require 
him  to  select  from  them  the  ones  which  are 
exactly  the  same  as  those  he  has  had  before. 
These  methods  will  be  better  understood  from 
the  account  now  to  be  given  of  the  way  they 
were  carried  out  on  a  large  number  of  students. 

The  first  experiments  were  made  by  Messrs.  S. 
and  B.  in  the  University  of  Toronto  on  a  class  of 
students  numbering  nearly  three  hundred,  of 
whom  about  one  third  were  women.  The  in- 
structors showed  to  the  class  certain  squares  of 
cardboard  of  suitable  size,  and  asked  them  to 
do  the  following  three  things  on  different  days: 
First,  to  reproduce  from  memory,  with  pencil  on 
paper,  squares  of  the  same  size  as  those  shown, 
after  intervals  of  one,  ten,  twenty,  and  forty 
minutes  (this  gives  results  by  the  method  of 
Reproduction) ;  second,  to  say  whether  a  new  set 
of  squares,  which  were  shown  to  them  after 
the  same  intervals,  were  the  same  in  size  as 
those  which  they  had  originally  seen,  smaller,  or 
larger  (illustrating  the  method  of  Identification) ; 
third,  they  were  shown  a  number  of  squares  of 
slightly  different  sizes,  again  at  the  same  inter- 
vals, and  asked  to  select  from  them  the  ones 
which  they  found  to  be  the  same  size  as  those  ori- 
ginally seen  (method  of  Selection). 

The  results  from  all  these  experiments  were 
combined  with  those  of  another  series,  secured 
from  a  large  class  of  Princeton  students;  and  the 
figure  (Fig.  8)  shows  by  curves  something  of  the 


140 


THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 


result.  The  figure  is  given  in  order  that  the  read- 
er may  understand  by  its  explanation  the  "  graphic 
method  "  of  plotting  statistical  results,  which,  with 
various  complications,  is  now  employed  in  psy- 
chology as  well  as  in  the  other  positive  sciences. 


FIG.  8. — Memory  curves :  I.  Method  of  Selection. 
Identification. 


"fr 

II.  Method  of 


Briefly  described  in  words,  it  was  found  that 
the  three  methods  agreed  (the  curves  are  paral- 
lel)* in  showing  that  during  the  first  ten  minutes 
there  was  a  great  falling  off  in  the  accuracy  of 
memory  (slant  in  the  curves  from  o  to  10) ;  that 
then,  between  ten  and  twenty  minutes,  memory  re- 
mained relatively  faithful  (the  curves  are  nearly 
level  from  10  to  20),  and  that  a  rapid  falling  off 
in  accuracy  occurred  after  twenty  minutes  (shown 
by  the  slant  in  the  lines  from  20  to  40). 

Further,  the  different  positions  qf  the  curves 
show  certain  things  when  properly  understood. 
The  curve  secured  by  the  method  of  Reproduction 
(not  given  in  the  figure)  shows  results  which  are 
least  accurate,  because  most  variable.  The  rea- 
son of  this  is  that  in  drawing  the  squares  to  re- 
produce the  one  remembered,  the  student  is  in- 

*  This  figure  shows  curves  for  two  of  the  methods  only, 
Selection  and  Identification. 


HOW   WE   EXPERIMENT   ON   THE   MIND.       141 

fluenced  by  the  size  of  the  paper  he  uses,  by  the 
varying  accuracy  of  his  control  over  his  hand  and 
arm  (the  results  vary,  for  example,  according  as 
he  uses  his  right  or  left  hand),  and  by  all  sorts  of 
associations  with  square  objects  which  may  at  the 
time  be  in  his  mind.  In  short,  this  method  gives 
his  memory  of  the  square  a  chance  to  be  fully 
assimilated  to  his  current  mental  state  during  the 
interval,  and  there  is  no  corrective  outside  of  him 
to  keep  him  true. 

That  this  difficulty  is  a  real  one  no  one  who 
has  examined  students  will  be  disposed  to  deny. 
When  we  ask  them  to  reproduce  what  the  text- 
book or  the  professor's  lectures  have  taught,  we 
also  ask  them  to  express  themselves  accurately. 
Now  the  science  of  correct  expression  is  a  thing 
in  which  the  average  student  has  had  no  training. 
With  his  difficulty  in  remembering  is  connected 
his  difficulty  of  expression ;  and  with  it  all  goes  a 
certain  embarrassment,  due  to  responsibilty,  per- 
sonal fear,  and  dread  of  disgrace.  So  the  results 
finally  obtained  by  this  method  are  really  very 
complex. 

One  of  the  curves,  that  given  by  the  method  of 
Selection  (I),  also  shows  memory  to  be  inter- 
fered with  by  a  certain  influence.  We  saw  in  con- 
nection with  the  experiments  reported  above  that, 
even  in  the  most  elementary  arrangements  of 
squares  in  the  visual  fields,  an  element  of  contrast 
comes  in  to  interfere  with  our  judgment  of  size. 
This  we  find  confirmed  in  these  experiments  when 
the  method  of  Selection  is  used.  By  this  method 
we  show  a  number  of  squares  side  by  side,  asking 
the  individual  to  select  the  one  he  saw  before. 
All  the  squares,  being  shown  at  once,  come  into 
contrast  with  one  another  on  the  background ;  and 


142  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

so  his  judgment  of  the  size  of  the  one  he  remembers 
is  distorted.  This,  again,  is  a  real  influence  in  our 
mental  lives,  leading  to  actual  illusion.  An  un- 
scrupulous lawyer  may  gradually  modify  the  story 
which  his  client  or  a  witness  tells  by  constantly 
adding  to  what  is  really  remembered,  other  details 
so  expertly  contrasted  with  the  facts,  or  so  neatly 
interposed  among  them,  that  the  witness  gradually 
incorporates  them  in  his  memory  and  so  testifies 
more  nearly  as  the  lawyer  desires.  In  our  daily 
lives  another  element  of  contrast  is  also  very 
strong — that  due  to  social  opinion.  We  constantly 
modify  our  memories  to  agree  more  closely  with 
the  truths  of  social  belief,  parin'g  down  uncon- 
sciously the  difference  between  our  own  and  oth- 
ers' reports  of  things.  If  several  witnesses  of  an 
event  be  allowed  to  compare  notes  from  time  to 
time,  they  will  gradually  come  to  tell  more  nearly 
the  same  story. 

.  The  other  curve  (II)  in  the  figure,  that  secured 
by  the  method  of  Identification,  seemed  to  the 
investigators  to  be  the  most  accurate.  It  is  not 
subject  to  the  errors  due  to  expression  and  to 
contrast,  and  it  has  the  advantage  of  allowing  the 
subject  the  right  to  recognise  the  square.  It  is 
shown  to  him  again,  with  no  information  that  it  is 
the  same,  and  he  decides  whether  from  his  remem- 
brance of  the  earlier  one,  it  is  the  same  or  not. 
The  only  objection  to  this  method  is  that  it  re- 
quires a  great  many  experiments  in  order  to  get 
an  average  result.  To  be  reliable,  an  average 
must  be  secured,  seeing  that,  for  one  or  two  or  a 
few  trials,  the  student  may  guess  right  without 
remembering  the  original  square  at  all.  By  taking 
a  large  number  of  persons,  such  as  the  three  hun- 
dred students,  this  objection  may  be  overcome. 


HOW  WE  EXPERIMENT  ON  THE  MIND.       143 

Comparing  the  averages,  for  example,  of  the  re- 
sults given  by  the  men  and  women  respectively, 
we  found  practically  no  difference  between  them. 
This  last  point  may  serve  to  introduce  a  dis- 
tinction which  is  important  in  all  work  in  ex- 
perimental psychology,  and  one  which  is  recog- 
nised also  in  many  other  sciences — the  distinction 
between  results  obtained  respectively  from  one 
individual  and  from  many.  Very  often  the  only 
way  to  learn  truth  about  a  single  individual  is  to 
investigate  a  number  together.  In  all  large  classes 
of  things,  especially  living  things,  there  are  great 
individual  differences,  and  in  any  particular  case 
this  personal  variation  may  be  so  large  that  it  ob- 
scures the  real  nature  of  the  normal.  For  exam- 
ple, three  large  sons  may  be  born  to  two  small 
parents ;  and  from  this  case  alone  it  might  be  in- 
ferred that  all  small  parents  have  large  sons.  Or 
three  girls  might  have  better  memories  than  three 
boys  in  the  same  family  or  school,  and  from  this 
it  might  be  argued  that  girls  are  better  endowed 
in  this  direction  than  boys.  In  all  such  cases  the 
proper  thing  to  do  is  to  get  a  large  number  of 
cases  and  combine  them;  then  the  preponderance 
which  the  first  cases  examined  may  have  shown, 
in  one  direction  or  the  other,  is  corrected.  This 
gives  rise  to  what  is  called  the  statistical  method ; 
it  is  used  in  many  practical  matters,  such  as  life 
insurance,  but  its  application  to  the  facts  of  life, 
mrnd,  variation,  evolution,  etc.,  is  only  begun.  Its 
neglect  in  psychology  is  one  of  the  crying  defects 
of  much  recent  work.  Its  use  in  complicated 
problems  involves  a  mathematical  training  which 
people  generally  do  not  possess ;  and  its  misuse 
through  lack  of  exactness  of  observation  or  igno- 
rance of  the  requirements  is  worse  than  its  neglect. 


144  THE   STORY  OF   THE   MIND. 

Another  result  came  out  in  connection  with 
these  experiments  on  memory,  which,  apart  from 
its  practical  interest,  may  serve  to  show  an  addi- 
tional resource  of  experimental  psychology.  In 
making  up  the  results  of  a  series  of  experiments 
it  is  very  important  to  observe  the  way  in  which 
the  different  cases  differ  from  one  another.  Some 
cases  may  be  so  nearly  alike  that  the  most  extreme 
of  them  are  not  far  from  the  average  of  them  all ; 
as  we  find,  for  example,  if  we  measure  a  thousand 
No.  10  shot.  But  now  suppose  we  mix  in  with  the 
No.  10  some  No.  6  and  some  No.  14,  and  then  take 
the  average  size;  we  may  now  get  just  the  same 
average,  and  we  can  tell  that  this  pile  is  different 
from  the  other  only  by  observing  the  individual 
measurements  of  the  single  shot  and  setting  down 
the  relative  frequency  of  each  particular  size.  Or, 
again,  we  may  get  a  different  average  size  in  one 
of  two  ways:  either  by  taking  another  lot  of  uni- 
form No.  14  shot,  let  us  say,  or  by  mixing  with  the 
No.  10  a  few  very  large  bullets.  Which  is  actually 
the  case  would  be  shown  only  by  the  examination 
of  the  individual  cases.  This  is  usually  done  by 
comparing  each  case  with  the  average  of  the  whole 
lot,  and  taking  the  average  of  the  differences  thus 
secured — a  quantity  called  the  "mean  variation." 

In  the  case  of  the  experiments  with  the  squares, 
the  errors  in  the  judgments  of  the  students  were 
found  to  lie  always  in  one  direction.  The  answers 
all  tended  to  show  that  they  took,  for  the  one 
originally  shown,  a  square  which  was  really  too 
large.  Casting  about  for  the  reason  of  this,  it  was 
considered  necessary  to  explain  it  by  the  supposi- 
tion that  the  square  remembered  had  in  the  inter- 
val become  enlarged  in  memory.  The  image  was 
larger  when  called  up  after  ten  or  twenty  min- 


HOW  WE  EXPERIMENT   ON   THE   MIND.       145 

utes  than  it  was  before.  This  might  be  due  to  a 
purely  mental  process;  or  possibly  to  a  sort  of 
spreading  out  of  the  brain  process  in  the  visual 
centre,  giving  the  result  that  whenever,  by  the  re- 
vival of  the  brain  process,  the  mental  image  is 
brought  back  again  to  mind,  this  spreading  out 
shows  itself  by  an  enlargement  of  the  memory 
image.  However  it  may  be  explained,  the  indica- 
tions of  it  were  unmistakable — unless,  of  course, 
some  other  reason  can  be  given  for  the  uniform 
direction  of  the  errors;  and  it  is  further  seen  in 
other  experiments  carried  out  by  Messrs.  W.  and 
B.  and  by  Dr.  K.*  at  a  later  date. 

If  this  tendency  to  the  enlargement  of  our 
memories  with  the  lapse  of  time  should  be  found 
to  be  a  general  law  of  memory,  it  would  have  in- 
teresting bearings.  It  would  suggest,  for  instance, 
an  explanation  of  the  familiar  fact  that  the  scenes 
of  the  past  seem  to  us,  when  we  return  to  them,  al- 
together too  small.  Our  childhood  home,  the  old 
flower  garden,  the  height  of  house  and  trees,  and 
even  that  of  our  hero  uncle,  all  seem  to  the  re- 
turning traveller  of  adult  life  ridiculously  small. 
That  we  expect  them  to  be  larger  may  result  from 
the  fact  that  the  memory  images  have  undergone 
change  in  the  direction  of  enlargement. 

V.  Suggestion. — Space  permits  only  the  mention 
of  another  research,  which,  however,  should  not  be 
altogether  omitted,  since  it  illustrates  yet  other 
problems  and  the  principles  of  their  solution. 
This  is  an  investigation  by  Messrs.  T.  and  H.,f 
which  shows  the  remarkable  influence  of  mental 

*  Dr.  F.  Kennedy,  demonstrator,  now  professor  in  the  Uni- 
versity of  Colorado  (results  not  yet  published). 

•f-  G.  A.  Tawney,  now  professor  in  Beloit  College,  and  C.  W. 
Hodge,  now  professor  in  Lafayette  College. 


146  THE  STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

suggestions  upon  certain  bodily  processes  which 
have  always  been  considered  purely  physiological. 
These  investigators  set  out  to  repeat  certain  ex- 
periments of  others  which  showed  that  if  two 
points,  say  those  of  a  pair  of  compasses,  be  some- 
what separated  and  put  upon  the  skin,  two  sen- 
sations of  contact  come  from  the  points.  But  if 
while  the  experiment  is  being  performed  the 
points  be  brought  constantly  nearer  to  each  other, 
a  time  arrives  when  the  two  are  felt  as  only  one, 
although  they  may  be  still  some  distance  apart. 
The  physiologists  argued  from  this  that  there 
were  minute  nerve  endings  in  the  skin  at  least  so 
far  apart  as  the  least  distance  at  which  the  points 
were  felt  as  two ;  and  that  when  the  points  were 
so  close  together  that  they  only  touched  one  of 
these  nerve  endings,  only  one  sensation  was  pro- 
duced. Mr.  T.  had  already  found,  working  in  Ger- 
many, that,  with  practice,  the  skin  gradually  be- 
came more  and  more  able  to  discriminate  the  two 
points — that  is,  to  feel  the  two  at  smaller  distances; 
and,  further,  that  the  exercise  of  the  skin  in  this 
way  on  one  side  of  the  body  not  only  made  that 
locality  more  sensitive  to  minute  differences,  but 
had  the  same  effect,  singularly,  on  the  correspond- 
ing place  on  the  other  side  of  the  body.  This, 
our  experimenters  inferred,  could  only  be  due  to 
the  continued  suggestion  in  the  mind  of  the  sub- 
ject that  he  should  feel  two  points,  the  result 
being  an  actual  heightening  of  the  sensibility  of 
the  skin.  When  he  thought  that  he  was  becoming 
more  sensitive  on  one  side — and  really  was — this 
sense  or  belief  of  his  took  effect  in  some  way  in 
both  hemispheres  of  his  brain,  and  so  both  sides 
of  the  body  were  alike  affected. 

This  led  to  other   experiments  in  Princeton  in 


HOW   WE   EXPERIMENT   ON   THE   MIND.       147 

which  suggestions  were  actually  made  to  the  sub- 
jects that  they  were  to  become  more  or  less  sensi- 
tive to  distance  and  direction  between  the  points 
on  the  skin,  with  the  striking  result  that  these 
suggestions  actually  took  effect  all  over  the  body. 
This  was  so  accurately  determined  that  from  the 
results  of  the  experiments  with  the  compasses  on 
the  skin  in  this  case  or  that,  pretty  accurate  in- 
ferences could  be  made  as  to  what  mental  sugges- 
tions the  subject  was  getting  at  the  time.  There 
was  no  chance  for  deception  in  the  results,  for 
the  experiments  were  so  controlled  that  the  sub- 
ject did  not  know  until  afterward  of  the  corre- 
spondences actually  reached  between  his  states  of 
mind  and  the  variations  in  sensibility  of  the  skin. 

This  slight  report  of  the  work  done  in  one  lab- 
oratory in  about  two  sessions,  involving  a  con- 
siderable variety  of  topics,  may  give  an  idea,  so 
far  as  it  goes,  of  the  sort  of  work  which  experi- 
mental psychology  is  setting  itself  to  do.  It  will 
be  seen  that  there  is  as*  yet  no  well-knit  body  of 
results  on  which  new  experiments  may  proceed, 
and  no  developed  set  of  experimental  arrange- 
ments, such  as  other  positive  sciences  show.  The 
procedure  is,  in  many  important  matters,  still  a 
matter  of  the  individual  worker's  judgment  and 
ability.  Even  for  the  demonstrations  attempted 
for  undergraduate  students,  good  and  cheap  ap- 
paratus is  still  lacking.  For  these  reasons  it  is 
premature  as  yet  to  expect  that  this  branch  of  the 
science  will  cut  much  of  a  figure  in  education. 
There  can  be  no  doubt,  however,  that  it  is  making 
many  interesting  contributions  to  our  knowledge 
of  the  mind,  and  that  when  it  is  more  adequately 
organized  and  developed  in  its  methods  and  ap- 


148  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

paratus,  it  will  become  the  basis  of  discipline  of  a 
certain  kind  lying  between  that  of  physical  sci- 
ence and  that  of  the  humanities,  since  it  will  have 
features  in  common  with  the  biological  and  nat- 
ural sciences.  Its  results  may  be  expected,  also 
to  lead  to  better  results  than  we  now  have  in  the 
theory  and  practice  of  education. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

SUGGESTION    IN    CHILDREN    AND    ADULTS — HYP- 
NOTISM. 

IN  an  earlier  place  certain  illustrations  of 
Suggestion  have  been  given.  By  Suggestion  we 
mean  the  fact  that  all  sorts  of  hints  from  with- 
out disturb  and  modify  the  beliefs  and  actions 
of  the  individual.  Certain  cases  from  my  own  ob- 
servation may  be  given  which  will  make  the  mat- 
ter clear. 

Physiological  Suggestion. — Observation  of  an 
infant  for  the  first  month  or  six  weeks  after 
birth  leads  to  the  conviction  that  his  life  is 
mainly  physiological.  When  the  actions  which 
are  purely  reflex,  together  with  certain  random 
impulsive  movements,  are  noted,  we  seem  to  ex- 
haust the  case. 

Yet  even  at  this  remarkably  early  stage  H. 
was  found  to  be  in  some  degree  receptive  to 
certain  Suggestions  conveyed  by  repeated  stimu- 
lation under  uniform  conditions.  In  the  first 
place,  the  suggestions  of  sleep  began  to  tell  upon 
her  before  the  end  of  the  first  month.  Her  nurse 
put  her  to  sleep  by  laying  her  face  down  and 
patting  gently  upon  the  end  of  her  spine.  This 


SUGGESTION   IN   CHILDREN  AND   ADULTS.       149 

position  soon  became  itself  not  only  suggestive 
to  the  child  of  sleep,  but  sometimes  necessary  to 
sleep,  even  when  she  was  laid  across  the  nurse's 
lap  in  what  seemed  to  be  an  uncomfortable  posi- 
tion. 

This  case  illustrates  what  may  be  called  Physi- 
ological Suggestion.  It  shows  the  law  of  physio- 
logical habit  as  it  borders  on  the  conscious. 

The  same  sort  of  phenomena  appear  also  in 
adult  life.  Positions  given  to  the  limbs  of  a 
sleeper  lead  to  movements  ordinarily  associated 
with  these  positions.  The  sleeper  defends  him- 
self, withdraws  himself  from  cold,  etc.  Children 
learn  gradually  to  react  upon  conditions  of  posi- 
tion, lack  of  support,  etc.,  of  the  body,  with 
those  actions  necessary  to  keep  from  falling, 
which  adults  have  so  perfectly.  All  secondary 
automatic  reactions  may  be  classed  here;  the 
sensations  coming  from  one  action,  as  in  walk- 
ing, being  suggestions  to  the  next  movement,  un- 
consciously acted  upon.  The  consciousness  at 
any  stage  in  the  chain  of  movements,  if  present 
at  all,  must  be  similar  to  the  baby's  in  the  case 
above — a  mere  internal  glimmering.  The  most 
we  can  say  of  such  physiological  suggestion  is, 
that  there  is  probably  some  consciousness,  and 
that  the  ordinary  reflexes  seem  to  be  abbreviated 
and  improved. 

Subconscious  Adult  Suggestion. — There  are  cer- 
tain phenomena  of  a  rather  striking  kind  coming 
under  this  head  whose  classification  is  so  evident 
that  we  may  enumerate  them  without  discussion 
of  the  general  principles  which  they  involve. 

Tune  Suggestion. — It  has  been  pointed  out  re> 
cently  that  dream  states  are  largely  indebted  for 
their  visual  elements — what  we  see  in  our  dreams 


150  THE  STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

— to  accidental  lines,  patches,  etc.,  in  the  field  of 
vision  when  the  eyes  are  shut,  due  to  the  dis- 
tended blood  vessels  of  the  cornea  and  lids,  to 
changes  in  the  external  illumination,  to  the  pres- 
ence of  dust  particles  of  different  configuration, 
etc.  The  other  senses  also  undoubtedly  con- 
tribute to  the  texture  of  our  dreams  by  equally 
subconscious  suggestions.  There  is  no  doubt, 
further,  that  our  waking  life  is  constantly  influ- 
enced by  such  trivial  stimulations. 

I  have  tested  in  detail,  for  example,  the  con- 
ditions of  the  rise  of  so-called  "internal  tunes" 
— we  speak  of  "  tunes  in  our  head  "  or  "  in  our 
ears"  —  and  find  certain  suggestive  influences 
which  in  most  cases  cause  these  tunes  to  rise  and 
take  their  course.  Often,  when  a  tune  springs 
up  "  in  my  head,"  the  same  tune  has  been  lately 
sung  or  whistled  in  my  hearing,  though  quite  un- 
noticed at  the  time.  Often  the  tunes  are  those 
heard  in  church  the  previous  day  or  earlier. 
Such  a  tune  I  am  entirely  unable  to  recall  volun- 
tarily ;  yet  when  it  comes  into  the  mind's  ear,  so 
to  speak,  I  readily  recognise  it  as  belonging  to 
an  earlier  day's  experience.  Other  cases  show 
various  accidental  suggestions,  such  as  the  tune 
Mozart  suggested  by  the  composer's  name,  the 
tune  Gentle  Annie  suggested  by  the  name  Annie, 
etc.  In  all  these  cases  it  is  only  after  the  tune 
has  taken  possession  of  consciousness  and  after 
much  seeking  that  the  suggesting  influence  is 
discovered. 

Closer  analysis  reveals  certain  additional  facts : 
The  "  time  "  of  such  internal  tunes  is  usually  dic- 
tated by  some  rhythmical  subconscious  occur- 
rence. After  hearty  meals  it  is  always  the  time 
of  the  heart  beat,  unless  there  be  "in  the  air" 


SUGGESTION  IN  CHILDREN  AND  ADULTS.      151 

some  more  impressive  stimulus ;  as,  for  example, 
when  on  shipboard,  the  beat  is  with  me  invari- 
ably that  of  the  engine  throbs.  When  walking  it 
is  the  rhythm  of  the  footfall.  On  one  occasion  a 
knock  of  four  beats  on  the  door  started  the  Mar- 
seillaise in  my  ear;  following  up  this  clew,  I 
found  that  at  any  time  different  divisions  of  musical 
time  being  struck  on  the  table  at  will  by  another 
person,  tunes  would  spring  up  and  run  on,  getting 
their  cue  from  the  measures  suggested.  Further, 
when  a  tune  dies  away,  its  last  notes  often  sug- 
gest, some  time  after,  another  having  a  similar 
movement — just  as  we  pass  from  one  tune  to 
another  in  a  "  medley."  It  may  also  be  noted 
that  in  my  case  the  tune  memories  are  auditive: 
they  run  in  my  head  when  I  have  no  words  for 
them  and  have  never  sung  them — an  experience 
which  is  consistent  with  the  fact  that  these  "  in- 
ternal tunes"  arise  in  childhood  before  the  fac- 
ulty of  speech.  They  also  have  distinct  pitch. 
For  example,  I  once  found  a  tune  "  in  my  head  " 
which  was  perfectly  familiar,  but  for  which  I 
could  find  no  words.  Tested  on  the  piano, 
the  pitch  was  F-sharp  and  the  time  was  my 
heart  beat.  Finally,  after  much  effort,  I  got 
the  unworthy  words  "Wait  till  the  clouds  roll 
by  "  by  humming  the  tune  over  repeatedly.  The 
pitch  is  determined  probably  by  the  accidental 
condition  of  the  auditory  centre  in  the  brain  or 
by  the  pitch  of  the  external  sound  which  serves 
as  stimulus  to  the  tune. 

Normal  Auto- Suggestion. — A  further  class  of 
Suggestions,  which  fall  under  the  general  phrase 
Auto-suggestion,  or  Self-suggestion  of  a  normal 
type,  may  be  illustrated.  In  experimenting  upon 
the  possibility  of  suggesting  sleep  to  another  I 


152  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MPND. 

have  found  certain  strong  reactive  influences  upon 
my  own  mental  condition.  Such  an  effort,  which 
involves  the  picturing  of  another  as  asleep,  is  a 
strong  Auto-suggestion  of  sleep,  taking  effect  in 
my  own  case  in  about  five  minutes  if  the  conditions 
be  kept  constant.  The  more  clearly  the  patient's 
sleep  is  pictured  the  stronger  becomes  the  sub- 
jective feeling  of  drowsiness.  After  about  ten 
minutes  the  ability  to  give  strong  concentration 
seems  to  disintegrate,  attention  is  renewed  only 
by  fits  and  starts  and  in  the  presence  of  great 
mental  inertia,  and  the  oncoming  of  sleep  is  al- 
most overpowering.  An  unfailing  cure  for  in- 
somnia, speaking  for  myself,  is  the  persistent  ef- 
fort to  put  some  one  else  asleep  by  hard  thinking 
of  the  end  in  view,  with  a  continued  gentle  move- 
ment, such  as  stroking  the  other  with  the  hand. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  impossible  to  bring  on 
a  state  of  drowsiness  by  imagining  myself  asleep, 
The  first  effort  at  this,  indeed,  is  promising,  for  it 
leads  to  a  state  of  restfulness  and  ease  akin  to 
the  mental  composure  which  is  the  usual  pre- 
liminary to  sleep;  but  it  goes  no  further.  It  is 
succeeded  by  a  state  of  steady  wakefulness, 
which  effort  of  attention  or  effort  not  to  attend 
only  intensifies.  If  the  victim  of  insomnia  could 
only  forget  that  he  is  thus  afflicted,  could  forget 
himself  altogether,  his  case  would  be  more  hope- 
ful. The  contrast  between  this  condition  and 
that  already  described  shows  that  it  is  the  Self- 
idea,  with  the  emotions  it  awakens,*  which  pre- 
vents the  suggestion  from  realizing  itself  and 
probably  accounts  for  many  cases  of  insomnia. 

*  A  friend  informs  me  that  when  he  pictures  himself  dead 
he  can  not  help  feeling  gratified  that  he  makes  so  handsome  a 
corpse. 


SUGGESTION   IN   CHILDREN   AND   ADULTS.      153 

Sense  Exaltation. — Recent  discussions  of  Hyp- 
notism have  shown  the  remarkable  "  exaltation  " 
which  the  senses  may  attain  in  somnambulism, 
together  with  a  corresponding  refinement  in  the 
interpretative  faculty.  This  is  described  more 
fully  below.  Events,  etc.,  quite  subconscious, 
usually  become  suggestions  of  direct  influence 
upon  the  subject.  Unintended  gestures,  habitual 
with  the  experimenter,  may  suffice  to  hypnotize 
his  accustomed  subject.  The  possibility  of  such 
training  of  the  senses  in  the  normal  state  has  not 
had  sufficient  emphasis.  The  young  child's  subtle 
discriminations  of  facial  and  other  personal  indi- 
cations are  remarkable.  The  prolonged  experi- 
ence of  putting  H.  to  sleep — extending  over  a 
period  of  more  than  six  months,  during  which  I 
slept  beside  her  bed — served  to  make  me  alive  to 
a  certain  class  of  suggestions  otherwise  quite  be- 
yond notice.  It  is  well  known  that  mothers  are 
awake  to  the  needs  of  their  infants  when  they  are 
asleep  to  everything  else. 

In  the  first  place,  we  may  note  the  intense 
auto-suggestion  of  sleep  already  pointed  out, 
under  the  stimulus  of  repeated  nursery  rhymes 
or  other  regular  devices  regularly  resorted  to 
in  putting  the  child  asleep.  Second,  surprising 
progressive  exaltation  of  the  hearing  and  inter- 
pretation of  sounds  coming  from  her  in  a  dark 
room.  At  the  end  of  four  or  five  months,  her 
movements  in  bed  awoke  me  or  not  according  as 
she  herself  was  awake  or  not.  Frequently  after 
awaking  I  was  distinctly  aware  of  what  move- 
ments of  hers  had  awaked  me.*  A  movement  of 

*  This  fact  is  analogous  to  our  common  experience  of  being 
awaked  by  a  loud  noise  and  then  hearing  it  after  we  awake ; 
yet  the  explanation  is  not  the  same. 


154  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

her  head  by  which  it  was  held  up  from  the  pillow 
was  readily  distinguished  from  the  restless  move- 
ments of  her  sleep.  It  was  not  so  much,  there- 
fore, exaltation  of  hearing  as  exaltation  of  the 
function  of  the  recognition  of  sounds  heard  and 
of  their  discrimination. 

Again,  the  same  phenomenon  to  an  equally 
marked  degree  attended  the  sound  of  her  breath- 
ing. It  is  well  enough  known  that  the  smallest 
functional  bodily  changes  induce  changes  in  both 
the  rapidity  and  the  quality  of  the  respiration. 
In  sleep  the  muscles  of  inhalation  and  exhalation 
are  relaxed,  inhalation  becomes  long  and  deep, 
exhalation  short  and  exhaustive,  and  the  rhythmic 
intervals  of  respiration  much  lengthened.  Now 
degrees  of  relative  wakefulness  are  indicated  with 
surprising  delicacy  by  the  slight  respiration 
sounds  given  forth  by  the  sleeper.  Professional 
nurses  learn  to  interpret  these  indications  with 
great  skill.  This  exaltation  of  hearing  became 
very  pronounced  in  my  operations  with  the  child. 
After  some  experience  the  peculiar  breathing  of 
advancing  or  actual  wakefulness  in  her  was  suffi- 
cient to  wake  me.  And  when  awake  myself  the 
change  in  the  infant's  respiration  sounds  to  those 
indicative  of  oncoming  sleep  was  sufficient  to  sug- 
gest or  bring  on  sleep  in  myself.  In  the  dark, 
also,  the  general  character  of  her  breathing  sounds 
was  interpreted  with  great  accuracy  in  terms  of 
her  varied  needs,  her  comfort  or  discomfort,  etc. 
The  same  kind  of  suggestion  from  the  respiration 
sounds  now  troubles  me  whenever  one  of  the  chil- 
dren is  sleeping  within  hearing  distance.* 

*  This  is  an  unpleasant  result  which  is  confirmed  by  pro- 
fessional infants'  nurses.  They  complain  of  loss  of  sleep  when 
off  duty.  Mrs.  James  Murray,  an  infants'  nurse  in  Toronto, 


SUGGESTION  IN  CHILDREN  AND  ADULTS.      155 

The  reactions  in  movement  upon  these  sug- 
gestions are  very  marked  and  appropriate,  in 
customary  or  habitual  lines,  although  the  stimu- 
lations are  quite  subconscious.  The  clearest  il- 
lustrations in  this  body  of  my  experiences  were 
afforded  by  my  responses  in  crude  songs  to  the 
infant's  waking  movements  and  breathing  sounds. 
I  have  often  waked  myself  by  myself  singing  one 
of  two  nursery  rhymes,  which  by  endless  repeti- 
tion night  after  night  had  become  so  habitual  as 
to  follow  in  an  automatic  way  upon  the  stimulus 
from  the  child.  It  is  certainly  astonishing  that 
among  the  things  which  one  may  get  to  do  auto- 
matically, we  should  find  singing  ;  but  writers 
on  the  subject  have  claimed  that  the  function  of 
musical  or  semi-musical  expression  may  be  reflex. 

The  principle  of  subconscious  suggestion,  of 
which  these  simple  facts  are  less  important  illus- 
trations, has  very  interesting  applications  in  the 
higher  reaches  of  social,  moral,  and  educational 
theory. 

Inhibitory  Suggestion. — An  interesting  class  of 
phenomena  which  figure  perhaps  at  all  the  levels 
of  nervous  action  now  described,  may  be  known 
as  Inhibitory  Suggestions.  The  phrase,  in  its 
broadest  use,  refers  to  all  cases  in  which  the  sug- 
gesting stimulus  tends  to  suppress,  check,  or  in- 
hibit movement.  We  find  this  in  certain  cases 

informs  me  that  she  finds  it  impossible  to  sleep  when  she  has 
no  infant  in  hearing  distance,  and  for  that  reason  she  never 
asks  for  a  vacation.  Her  normal  sleep  has  evidently  come  to 
depend  upon  continuous  soporific  suggestions  from  a  child.  In 
another  point,  also,  her  experience  confirms  my  observations, 
viz.,  the  child's  movements,  preliminary  to  waking,  awake  her, 
when  no  other  movements  of  the  child  do  so — the  consequence 
being  that  she  is  ready  for  the  infant  when  it  gets  fully  awake 
and  cries  out 


156  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

just  as  strongly  marked  as  the  positive  movement- 
bringing  kind  of  suggestion.  The  facts  may  be 
put  under  certain  heads  which  follow. 

Pain  Suggestion. — Of  course,  the  fact  that  pain 
inhibits  movement  occurs  at  once  to  the  reader. 
So  far  as  this  is  general,  and  is  a  native  inherited 
thing,  it  is  organic,  and  so  falls  under  the  head  of 
Physiological  Suggestion  of  a  negative  sort.  The 
child  shows  contracting  movements,  crying  move- 
ments, starting  and  jumping  movements,  shortly 
after  birth,  and  so  plainly  that  we  need  not  hesi- 
tate to  say  that  these  pain  responses  belong  pure- 
ly to  his  nervous  system ;  and  that,  in  general, 
they  are  inhibitory  and  contrary  to  those  other 
native  reactions  which  indicate  pleasure. 

The  influence  of  pain  extends  everywhere 
through  mental  development,  however.  Its  gen- 
eral effect  is  to  dampen  down  or  suppress  the 
function  which  brings  the  pain ;  and  in  this  its 
action  is  just  the  contrary  to  that  of  pleasure, 
which  furthers  the  pleasurable  function. 

Control  Suggestion. — This  covers  all  cases  which 
show  any  kind  of  restraint  set  upon  the  move- 
ments of  the  body  short  of  that  which  comes  from 
voluntary  intention.  The  infant  brings  the  move- 
ments of  his  legs,  arms,  head,  etc.,  gradually  into 
some  sort  of  order  and  system.  It  is  accom- 
plished by  a  system  of  organic  checks  and  coun- 
ter-checks, by  which  associations  are  formed  be- 
tween muscular  sensations  on  the  one  hand  and 
certain  other  sensations,  as  of  sight,  touch,  hear- 
ing, etc.,  on  the  other  hand.  The  latter  serve  as 
suggestions  to  the  performance  of  these  move- 
ments, and  these  alone.  The  infant  learns  to  bal- 
ance his  head  and  trunk,  to  direct  his  hands,  to 
grasp  with  thumb  opposite  the  four  fingers — all 


SUGGESTION   IN   CHILDREN   AND   ADULTS.       157 

largely  by  such  control  suggestions,  aided,  of 
course,  by  his  native  reflexes. 

Contrary  Suggestion. — By  this  is  meant  a  tend- 
ency of  a  very  striking  kind  observable  in  many 
children,  no  less  than  in  many  adults,  to  do  the 
contrary  when  any  course  is  suggested.  The 
very  word  "  contrary  "  is  used  in  popular  talk  to 
describe  an  individual  who  shows  this  type  of 
conduct.  Such  a  child  or  man  is  rebellious  when- 
ever rebellion  is  possible  ;  he  seems  to  kick  con- 
stitutionally against  the  pricks. 

The  fact  of  "contrariness  "  in  older  children 
— especially  boys — is  so  familiar'  to  all  who  have 
observed  school  children  with  any  care  that  I 
need  not  cite  further  details.  And  men  and 
women  often  become  so  enslaved  to  suggestions 
of  the  contrary  that  they  seem  only  to  wait  for 
indications  of  the  wishes  of  others  in  order  to  op- 
pose and  thwart  them. 

Contrary  suggestions  are  to  be  explained  as 
exaggerated  instances  of  control.  It  is  easy  to 
see  that  the  checks  and  counter-checks  already 
spoken  of  as  constituting  the  method  of  control 
of  muscular  movement  may  themselves  become 
so  habitual  and  intense  as  to  dominate  the  reac- 
tions which  they  should  only  regulate.  The  asso- 
ciations between  the  muscular  series  and  the 
visual  series,  let  us  say,  which  controls  it,  comes 
to  work  backward,  so  that  the  drift  of  the  or- 
ganic processes  is  toward  certain  contrary  reverse 
movements. 

In  the  higher  reaches  of  conduct  and  life  we 
find  interesting  cases  of  very  refined  contrary 
suggestion.  In  the  man  of  ascetic  temperament, 
the  duty  of  self-denial  takes  the  form  of  a  regular 
contrary  suggestion  in  opposition  to  every  invita- 

12 


158  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

tion  to  self-indulgence,  however  innocent.  The 
over-scrupulous  mind,  like  the  over-precise,  is  a 
prey  to  the  eternal  remonstrances  from  the  con- 
trary which  intrude  their  advice  into  all  his  de- 
cisions. In  matters  of  thought  and  belief  also 
cases  are  common  of  stubborn  opposition  to  evi- 
dence, and  persistence  in  opinion,  which  are  in  no 
way  due  to  the  cogency  of  the  contrary  arguments 
or  to  real  force  of  conviction. 

Hypnotic  Suggestion. — The  facts  upon  which  the 
current  theories  of  hypnotism  are  based  may  be 
summed  up  under  a  few  headings,  and  the  recital 
of  them  will  serve  to  bring  this  class  of  phenomena 
into  the  general  lines  of  classification  drawn  out 
in  this  chapter. 

The  Facts. — When  by  any  cause  the  attention 
is  held  fixed  upon  an  object,  say  a  bright  button, 
for  a  sufficient  time  without  distraction,  the  sub- 
ject begins  to  lose  consciousness  in  a  peculiar 
way.  Generalizing  this  simple  experiment,  we 
may  say  that  any  method  or  device  which  serves 
to  secure  undivided  and  prolonged  attention  to 
any  sort  of  Suggestion — be  it  object,  idea,  any- 
thing that  is  clear  and  striking — brings  on  what  is 
called  Hypnosis  to  a  person  normally  constituted. 

The  Paris  school  of  interpreters  find  three 
stages  of  progress  in  the  hypnotic  sleep  :  First, 
Catalepsy,  characterized  by  rigid  fixity  of  the 
muscles  in  any  position  in  which  the  limbs  may 
be  put  by  the  experimenter,  with  great  Suggesti- 
bility on  the  side  of  consciousness,  and  Anaesthe- 
sia (lack  of  sensation)  in  certain  areas  of  the  skin 
and  in  certain  of  the  special  senses  ;  second,  Leth- 
argy, in  which  consciousness  seems  to  disappear 
entirely ;  the  subject  not  being  sensitive  to  any 
stimulations  by  eye,  ear,  skin,  etc.,  and  the  body 


SUGGESTION  IN  CHILDREN  AND  ADULTS.       159 

being  flabby  and  pliable  as  in  natural  sleep  ;  third, 
Somnambulism,  so  called  from  its  analogies  to  the 
ordinary  sleep-walking  condition  to  which  many 
persons  are  subject.  This  last  covers  the  phe- 
nomena of  ordinary  mesmeric  exhibitions  at  which 
travelling  mesmerists  "  control  "  persons  before 
audiences  and  make  them  obey  their  commands. 
While  other  scientists  properly  deny  that  these 
three  stages  are  really  distinct,  they  may  yet  be 
taken  as  representing  extreme  instances  of  the 
phenomena,  and  serve  as  points  of  departure  for 
further  description. 

On  the  mental  side  the  general  characteristics 
of  hypnotic  Somnambulism  are  as  follows  :  i.  The 
impairment  of  memory  in  a  peculiar  way.  In  the 
hypnotic  condition  all  affairs  of  the  ordinary  life 
are  forgotten ;  on  the  other  hand,  after  waking 
the  events  of  the  hypnotic  condition  are  forgot- 
ten. Further,  in  any  subsequent  period  of  Hyp- 
nosis the  events  of  the  former  similar  periods  are 
remembered.  So  a  person  who  is  frequently  hyp- 
notized has  two  continuous  memories  :  one  for 
the  events  of  his  normal  life,  exercised  only  when 
he  is  normal ;  and  one  for  the  events  of  his  hyp- 
notic periods,  exercised  only  when  he  is  hypno- 
tized. 

2.  Suggestibility  to  a  remarkable  degree.  By 
this  is  meant  the  tendency  of  the  subject  to  have 
in  reality  any  mental  condition  which  is  sug- 
gested to  him.  He  is  subject  to  Suggestions 
both  on  the  side  of  his  sensations  and  ideas  and 
also  on  the  side  of  his  actions.  He  will  see,  hear, 
remember,  believe,  refuse  to  see,  hear,  etc.,  any- 
thing, with  some  doubtful  exceptions,  which  may 
be  suggested  to  him  by  word  or  deed,  or  even  by 
the  slightest  and  perhaps  unconscious  indications 


160  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

of  those  about  him.  On  the  side  of  conduct  his 
suggestibility  is  equally  remarkable.  Not  only 
will  he  act  in  harmony  with  the  illusions  of  sight, 
etc.,  into  which  he  is  led,  but  he  will  carry  out, 
like  an  automaton,  the  actions  suggested  to  him. 
Further,  pain  and  pleasure,  with  their  organic  ac- 
companiments may  be  produced  by  Suggestion. 
The  skin  may  be  actually  scarred  with  a  lead  pen- 
cil if  the  patient  be  told  that  it  is  red-hot  iron. 
The  suggested  pain  brings  about  vasomotor  and 
other  bodily  changes  that  prove,  as  similar  tests  in 
the  other  cases  prove,  that  simulation  is  impossible 
and  the  phenomena  are  real.  These  truths  and 
those  given  below  are  no  longer  based  on  the 
mere  reports  of  the  "mesmerists,"  but  are  the 
recognised  property  of  legitimate  psychology. 

Again,  such  suggestions  may  be  for  a  future 
time,  and  be  performed  only  when  a  suggested 
interval  has  elapsed ;  they  are  then  called  De- 
ferred or  Post-hypnotic  Suggestions.  Post-hyp- 
notic Suggestions  are  those  which  include  the 
command  not  to  perform  them  until  a  certain 
time  after  the  subject  has  returned  to  his  normal 
condition ;  such  suggestions — if  of  reasonably 
trifling  character — are  actually  carried  out  after- 
ward in  the  normal  state,  although  the  person  is 
conscious  of  no  reason  why  he  should  act  in  such 
a  way,  having  no  remembrance  whatever  that  he 
has  received  the  suggestion  when  hypnotized. 
Such  post-hypnotic  performances  may  be  de- 
ferred by  suggestion  for  many  months. 

3.  So-called  Exaltation  of  the  mental  faculties, 
especially  of  the  senses  :  increased  acuteness  of 
vision,  hearing,  touch,  memory,  and  the  mental 
functions  generally.  By  reason  of  this  great  "ex- 
altation," hypnotized  patients  may  get  suggestions 


SUGGESTION   IN   CHILDREN   AND   ADULTS.       161 

from  the  experimenters  which  are  not  intended, 
and  discover  their  intentions  when  every  effort  is 
made  to  conceal  them.  Often  emotional  changes 
in  expression  are  discerned  by  them ;  and  if  it  be 
admitted  that  their  power  of  logical  and  imagina- 
tive insight  is  correspondingly  exalted,  there  is 
hardly  a  limit  to  the  patient's  ability  to  read,  sim- 
ply from  physical  indications,  the  mental  states  of 
those  who  experiment  with  him. 

4.  So-called  Rapport.  This  term  covers  all  the 
facts  known,  before  the  subject  was  scientifically 
investigated,  by  such  expressions  as  "  personal 
magnetism,"  "will  power  over  the  subject",  etc. 
It  is  true  that  one  particular  operator  alone  may 
be  able  to  hypnotize  a  particular  patient;  and  in 
this  case  the  patient  is,  when  hypnotized,  open  to 
suggestions  from  that  person  only.  He  is  deaf 
and  blind  to  everything  enjoined  by  any  one  else. 
It  is  easy  to  see  from  what  has  already  been  said 
that  this  does  not  involve  any  occult  nerve  influ- 
ence or  mental  power.  A  sensitive  patient  any- 
body can  hypnotize,  provided  only  that  the  patient 
have  the  idea  or  conviction  that  the  experimenter 
possesses  such  power.  Now,  let  a  patient  get 
the  idea  that  only  one  man  can  hypnotize  him,  and 
that  is  the  beginning  of  the  hypnotic  suggestion 
itself.  It  is  a  part  of  the  suggestion  that  a  cer- 
tain personal  Rapport  is  necessary ;  so  the  patient 
must  have  \h\sRapport.  This  is  shown  by  the  fact 
that  when  such  a  patient  is  hypnotized,  the  oper- 
ator en  rapport 'with  him  can  transfer  the  so-called 
control  to  any  one  else  simply  by  suggesting  to 
the  patient  that  this  third  party  can  also  hypno- 
tize him.  Rapport,  therefore,  and  all  the  amazing 
claims  of  charlatans  to  powers  of  charming,  steal- 
ing another's  personality,  controlling  his  will  at  a 


162  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

distance — all  such  claims  are  explained,  so  far  as 
they  have  anything  to  rest  upon,  by  suggestion 
under  conditions  of  mental  hypersesthesia  or  ex- 
altation. 

I  may  now  add  certain  practical  remarks  on 
the  subject. 

In  general,  any  method  which  fixes  the  atten- 
tion upon  a  single  stimulus  long  enough  is  prob- 
ably sufficient  to  produce  Hypnosis;  but  the  result 
is  quick  and  profound  in  proportion  as  the  patient 
has  the  idea  that  it  is  going  to  succeed,  i.  e.,  gets 
the  suggestion  of  sleep.  It  may  be  said,  there- 
fore, that  the  elaborate  performances,  such  as 
passes,  rubbings,  mysterious  incantations,  etc., 
often  resorted  to,  have  no  physiological  effect 
whatever,  and  only  serve  to  work  in  the  way  of 
suggestion  upon  the  mind  of  the  subject.  In  view 
of  this  it  is  probable  that  any  person  in  normal 
health  can  be  hypnotized,  provided  he  is  not  too 
sceptical  of  the  operator's  knowledge  and  power; 
and,  on  the  contrary,  any  one  can  hypnotize  an- 
other, provided  he  do  not  arouse  too  great  scepti- 
cism, and  is  not  himself  wavering  and  clumsy.  It 
is  probable,  however,  that  susceptibility  varies 
greatly  in  degree,  and  that  race  exerts  an  impor- 
tant influence.  Thus  in  Europe  the  French  seem 
to  be  most  susceptible,  and  the  English  and  Scan- 
dinavians least  so.  The  impression  that  weak- 
minded  persons  are  most  available  is  quite  mis- 
taken. On  the  contrary,  patients  in  the  insane 
asylums,  idiots,  etc.,  are  the  most  refractory.  This 
is  to  be  expected,  from  the  fact  that  in  these  cases 
power  of  strong,  steady  attention  is  wanting. 
The  only  class  of  pathological  cases  which  seem 
peculiarly  open  to  the  hypnotic  influence  is  that 
of  the  hystero-epileptics,  whose  tendencies  are 


SUGGESTION   IN   CHILDREN   AND  ADULTS.        163 

toward  extreme  suggestibility.  Further,  one  may 
hypnotize  himself — what  we  have  called  above 
Auto-suggestion — especially  after  having  been 
put  into  the  trance  more  than  once  by  others. 
When  let  alone  after  being  hypnotized,  the  pa- 
tient usually  passes  into  a  normal  sleep  and 
wakes  naturally. 

It  is  further  evident  that  frequent  hypnotiza- 
tion  is  very  damaging  if  done  by  the  same  opera- 
tor, since  then  the  patient  contracts  a  habit  of 
responding  to  the  same  class  of  suggestions;  and 
this  may  influence  his  normal  life.  A  further  dan- 
ger arises  from  the  possibility  that  all  suggestions 
have  not  been  removed  from  the  patient's  mind 
before  his  awaking.  Competent  scientific  observ- 
ers always  make  it  a  point  to  do  this.  It  is  pos- 
sible also  that  damaging  effects  result  directly  to 
a  man  from  frequent  hypnotizing;  and  this  is  in 
some  degree  probable,  simply  from  the  fact  that, 
while  it  lasts,  the  state  is  abnormal.  Consequent- 
ly, all  general  exhibitions  in  public,  as  well  as  all 
individual  hypnotizing  by  amateurs,  should  be 
prohibited  by  law,  and  the  whole  practical  appli- 
cation as  well  as  observation  of  Hypnosis  should 
be  left  in  the  hands  of  physicians  or  experts  who 
have  proved  their  fitness  by  an  examination  and 
secured  a  certificate  of  licence.  In  Russia  a  de- 
cree (summer,  1893)  permits  physicians  to  practise 
hypnotism  for  purposes  of  cure  under  official  cer- 
tificates. In  France  public  exhibitions  are  for- 
bidden. 

So-called  Criminal  Suggestions  may  be  made, 
with  more  or  less  effect,  in  the  hypnotic  state. 
Cases  have  been  tried  in  the  French  courts,  in 
which  evidence  for  and  against  such  influence  of  a 
third  person  over  the  criminal  has  been  admitted. 


164  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

The  reality  of  the  phenomenon,  however,  is  in 
dispute.  The  Paris  school  claim  that  criminal 
acts  may  be  suggested  to  the  hypnotized  subject, 
which  are  just  as  certain  to  be  performed  by  him 
as  any  other  acts.  Such  a  subject  will  discharge 
a  blank-loaded  pistol  at  one,  when  told  to  do  so, 
or  stab  him  with  a  paper  dagger.  While  admit- 
ting the  facts,  the  Nancy  theorists  claim  that  the 
subject  knows  the  performance  to  be  a  farce; 
gets  suggestions  of  the  unreality  of  it  from  the  ex- 
perimenters, and  so  acquiesces.  This  is  probably, 
true,  as  is  seen  in  frequent  cases  in  which  patients 
have  refused,  in  hypnotic  sleep,  to  perform  sug- 
gested acts  which  shocked  their  modesty,  veracity, 
etc.  This  goes  to  show  that  the  Nancy  school  are 
right  in  saying  that  while  in  Hypnosis  suggesti- 
bility is  exaggerated  to  an  enormous  degree,  still 
it  has  limits  in  the  more  well-knit  habits,  moral 
sentiments,  social  opinions,  etc.,  of  the  subject. 
And  it  further  shows  that  Hypnosis  is  probably, 
as  they  claim,  a  temporary  disturbance,  rather  than 
a  pathological  condition  of  mind  or  body. 

There  have  been  many  remarkable  and  sensa- 
tional cases  of  cure  of  disease  by  hypnotic  sug- 
gestion, reported  especially  in  France.  That  hys- 
teria in  many  of  its  manifestations  has  been  re- 
lieved is  certainly  true ;  but  that  any  organic, 
structural  disease  has  ever  been  cured  by  hypno- 
tism is  unproved.  It  is  not  regarded  by  medical 
authorities  as  an  agent  of  much  therapeutic  value, 
and  is  rarely  employed ;  but  it  is  doubtful,  in 
view  of  the  natural  prejudice  caused  by  the  pre- 
tensions of  charlatans,  whether  its  merits  have 
been  fairly  tested.  On  the  European  Continent  it 
has  been  successfully  applied  in  a  great  variety  of 
cases ;  and  Bernheim  has  shown  that  minor  nerv- 


SUGGESTION   IN   CHILDREN   AND   ADULTS.       165 

ous  troubles,  insomnia,  migraines,  drunkenness, 
lighter  cases  of  rheumatism,  sexual  and  digestive 
disorders,  together  With  a  host  of  smaller  tempo- 
rary causes  of  pain — corns,  cricks  in  back  and 
side,  etc. — may  be  cured  or  very  materially  alle- 
viated by  suggestions  conveyed  in  the  hypnotic 
state.  In  many  cases  such  cures  are  permanently 
effected  with  aid  from  no  other  remedies.  In  a 
number  of  great  city  hospitals  patients  of  recog- 
nised classes  are  at  once  hypnotized,  and  sugges- 
tions of  cure  made.  Liebeault,  the  founder  of 
the  Nancy  school,  has  the  credit  of  having  first 
made  use  of  hypnosis  as  a  remedial  agent.  It  is 
also  becoming  more  and  more  recognised  as  a 
method  of  controlling  refractory  and  violent  pa- 
tients in  asylums  and  reformatory  institutions. 
It  must  be  added,  however,  that  psychological 
theory  rather  than  medical  practice  is  seriously 
concerning  itself  with  this  subject. 

Theory. — Two  rival  theories  are  held  as  to  the 
general  character  of  Hypnosis.  The  Paris  school 
already  referred  to,  led  by  the  late  Dr.  Charcot, 
hold  that  it  is  a  pathological  condition  which  is 
most  readily  induced  in  patients  already  mentally 
diseased  or  having  neuropathic  tendencies.  They 
claim  that  the  three  stages  described  above  are 
a  discovery  of  great  importance.  The  so-called 
Nancy  school,  on  the  other  hand,  led  by  Bern- 
heim,  deny  the  pathological  character  of  Hypnosis 
altogether,  claiming  that  the  hypnotic  condition 
is  nothing  more  than  a  special  form  of  ordinary 
sleep  brought  on  artificially  by  suggestion.  Hyp- 
notic suggestion,  say  they,  is  only  an  exaggera- 
tion of  an  influence  to  which  all  persons  are  nor- 
mally subject.  All  the  variations,  stages,  curious 
phenomena,  etc.,  of  the  Paris  school,  they  claim, 


1 66  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

can  be  explained  by  this  "  suggestion  "  hypothe- 
sis. The  Nancy  school  must  be  considered  com- 
pletely victorious  apart  from  some  facts  which  no 
theory  has  yet  explained. 

Hypnotism  shows  an  intimacy  of  interaction 
between  mind  and  body  to  which  current  psychol- 
ogy is  only  beginning  to  do  justice  ;  and  it  is  this 
aspect  of  the  whole  matter  which  should  be  em- 
phasized in  this  connection.  The  hypnotic  con- 
dition of  consciousness  may  be  taken  to  represent 
the  working  of  Suggestion  most  remarkably. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    TRAINING    OF    THE    MIND EDUCATIONAL 

PSYCHOLOGY. 

A  GREAT  deal  has  been  said  and  written  about 
the  physical  and  mental  differences  shown  by  the 
young;  and  one  of  the  most  oft-repeated  of  all 
the  charges  which  we  hear  brought  against  the 
current  methods  of  teaching  is  that  all  children 
are  treated  alike.  The  point  is  carried  so  far  that 
a  teacher  is  judged  from  the  way  he  has  or  has 
not  of  getting  at  the  children  under  him  as  indi- 
viduals. All  this  is  a  move  in  the  right  direction ; 
and  yet  the  subject  is  still  so  vague  that  many  of 
the  very  critics  who  declaim  against  the  similar 
treatment  which  diverse  pupils  get  at  school  have 
no  clear  idea  of  what  is  needed  ;  they  merely 
make  demands  that  the  treatment  shall  suit  the 
child.  How  each  child  is  to  be  suited,  and  the 
inquiry  still  back  of  that,  what  peculiarity  it  is  in 
this  child  or  that  which  is  to  be  "  suited  " — these 
things  are  left  to  settle  themselves. 


THE  TRAINING  OF  THE   MIND.  167 

It  is  my  aim  in  this  chapter  to  indicate  some 
of  the  variations  which  are  shown  by  different 
children  ;  and  on  the  basis  of  such  facts  to  en- 
deavour to  arrive  at  a  more  definite  idea  of  what 
variations  of  treatment  are  called  for  in  the  sev- 
eral classes  into  which  the  children  are  divided. 
I  shall  confine  myself  at  first  to  those  differences 
which  are  more  hereditary  and  constitutional. 

First  Period — Early  Childhood. — The  first  and 
most  comprehensive  distinction  is  that  based  on 
the  division  of  the  life  of  man  into  the  two  great 
spheres  of  reception  and  action.  The  "  sensory  " 
and  the  "  motor  "  are  becoming  the  most  common 
descriptive  terms  of  current  psychology.  We 
hear  all  the  while  of  sensory  processes,  sensory 
contents,  sensory  centres,  sensory  attention,  etc. ; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  of  motor  processes,  motor 
centres,  motor  ataxy,  motor  attention,  motor  con- 
sciousness, etc.  And  in  the  higher  reaches  of 
mental  function,  the  same  antithesis  comes  out  in 
the  contrast  of  sensory  and  motor  aphasia,  alexia, 
sensory  and  motor  types  of  memory  and  imagina- 
tion, etc.  Indeed  the  tendency  is  now  strong  to 
think  that  when  we  have  assigned  a  given  func- 
tion of  consciousness  to  one  or  other  side  of  the 
nervous  apparatus,  making  it  either  sensory  or 
motor,  then  our  duty  to  it  is  done.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  distinction  is 
throwing  great  light  on  the  questions  of  mind 
which  involve  also  the  correlative  questions  of 
the  nervous  system.  This  is  true  of  all  questions 
of  educational  psychology. 

This  first  distinction  between  children — as  hav- 
ing general  application — is  that  which  I  may 
cover  by  saying  that  some  are  more  active,  or 
motile,  while  others  are  more  passive,  or  recep- 


1 68  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

tive.  This  is  a  common  enough  distinction  ;  but 
possibly  a  word  or  two  on  its  meaning  in  the  con- 
stitution of  the  child  may  give  it  more  actual 
value. 

The  "  active  "  person  to  the  psychologist  is 
one  who  is  very  responsive  to  what  we  have  called 
Suggestions.  Suggestions  may  be  described  in 
most  general  terms  as  any  and  all  the  influences 
from  outside,  from  the  environment,  both  phys- 
ical and  personal,  which  get  a  lodgment  in  con- 
sciousness and  lead  to  action.  A  child  who  is 
"  suggestible  "  to  a  high  degree  shows  it  in  what 
we  call  "  motility."  The  suggestions  which  take 
hold  of  him  translate  themselves  very  directly 
into  action.  He  tends  to  act  promptly,  quickly, 
unreflectively,  assimilating  the  newer  elements  of 
the  suggestions  of  the  environment  to  the  ways 
of  behaviour  fixed  by  his  earlier  habits.  Generally 
such  a  person,  child  or  adult,  is  said  to  "jump" 
at  conclusions;  he  is  anxious  to  know  in  order  to 
act ;  he  acts  in  some  way  on  all  events  or  sug- 
gestions, even  when  no  course  of  action  is  ex- 
plicitly suggested,  and  even  when  one  attempts 
to  keep  him  from  acting. 

Psychologically  such  a  person  is  dominated 
by  habit.  And  this  means  that  his  nervous  sys- 
tem sets,  either  by  its  hereditary  tendencies  or 
by  the  undue  predominance  of  certain  elements 
in  his  education,  quickly  in  the  direction  of  motor 
discharge.  The  great  channels  of  readiest  out- 
pouring from  the  brain  into  the  muscles  have  be- 
come fixed  and  pervious ;  it  is  hard  for  the  pro- 
cesses once  started  in  the  sense  centres,  such  as 
those  of  sight,  hearing,  etc.,  to  hold  in  their  ener- 
gies. They  tend  to  unstable  equilibrium  in  the 
direction  of  certain  motor  combinations,  which  in 


THE  TRAINING  OF  THE  MIND.  169 

their  turn  represent  certain  classes  of  acts.  This 
is  habit ;  and  the  person  of  the  extreme  motor 
type  is  always  a  creature  of  habit. 

Now  what  is  the  line  of  treatment  that  such  a 
child  should  have  ?  The  necessity  for  getting  an 
answer  to  this  question  is  evident  from  what  was 
said  above — i.  e.,  that  the  very  rise  of  the  condi- 
tion itself  is  due,  apart  from  heredity,  oftener 
than  not  to  the  fact  that  he  has  not  had  proper 
treatment  from  his  teachers. 

The  main  point  for  a  teacher  to  have  in  mind 
in  dealing  with  such  a  boy  or  girl — the  impulsive, 
active  one,  always  responsive,  but  almost  always 
in  error  in  what  he  says  and  does — is  that  here 
is  a  case  of  habit.  Habit  is  good  ;  indeed,  if  we 
should  go  a  little  further  we  should  see  that  all 
education  is  the  forming  of  habits ;  but  here,  in 
this  case,  what  we  have  is  not  habits,  but  habit. 
This  child  shows  a  tendency  to  habit  as  such :  to 
habits  of  any  and  every  kind.  The  first  care  of 
the  teacher  in  order  to  the  control  of  the  forma- 
tion of  habits  is  in  some  way  to  bring  about  a 
little  inertia  of  habit,  so  to  speak — a  short  period 
of  organic  hesitation,  during  which  the  reasons 
pro  and  con  for  each  habit  may  be  brought  into 
the  consciousness  of  the  child. 

The  means  by  which  this  tendency  to  crude, 
inconsiderate  action  on  the  part  of  the  child  is  to 
be  controlled  and  regulated  is  one  of  the  most 
typical  questions  for  the  intelligent  teacher.  Its 
answer  must  be  different  for  children  of  different 
ages.  The  one  thing  to  do,  in  general,  however, 
from  the  psychologist's  point  of  view,  is  in  some 
way  to  bring  about  greater  complications  in  the 
motor  processes  which  the  child  uses  most  habit- 
ually, and  with  this  complication  to  get  greater 


170  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

inhibition  along  the  undesirable  lines  of  his  ac- 
tivity. Inhibition  is  the  damming  up  of  the  pro- 
cesses for  a  period,  causing  some  kind  of  a  "  set- 
back "  of  the  energies  of  movement  into  the 
sensory  centres,  or  the  redistribution  of  this  en- 
ergy in  more  varied  and  less  habitual  discharges. 
With  older  children  a  rational  method  is  to  ana- 
lyze for  them  the  mistakes  they  have  made,  show- 
ing the  penalties  they  have  brought  upon  them- 
selves by  hasty  action.  This  requires  great 
watchfulness.  In  class  work,  the  teacher  may 
profitably  point  out  the  better  results  reached  by 
the  pupil  who  "  stops  to  think."  This  will  bring 
to  the  reform  of  the  hasty  scholar  the  added  mo- 
tive of  semi-public  comparison  with  the  more  de- 
liberate members  of  the  class.  Such  procedure  is 
quite  unobjectionable  if  made  a  recognised  part 
of  the  class  method ;  yet  care  should  be  taken 
that  no  scholar  suffer  mortification  from  such 
comparisons.  The  matter  may  be  "  evened  up  " 
by  dwelling  also  on  the  merit  of  promptness  which 
the  scholar  in  question  will  almost  always  be 
found  to  show. 

For  younger  pupils  as  well  as  older  more  in- 
direct methods  of  treatment  are  more  effective. 
The  teacher  should  study  the  Tfhnjnr  to  find  the 
general  trend  of  his  habits.  Then  oversight  should 
be  exercised  over  both  his  tasks  and  his  sports 
with  certain  objects  in  view.  His  habitual  actions 
should  be  made  as  complicated  as  his  ability  can 
cope  with;  this  in  order  to  educate  his  habits  and 
keep  them  from  working  back  into  mere  mechan- 
ism. If  he  shows  his  fondness  for  drawing  by 
marking  his  desk,  see  that  he  has  drawing  mate- 
rials at  hand  and  some  intelligent  tasks  in  this  line 
to  do ;  not  as  tasks,  but  for  himself.  Encourage 


THE  TRAINING  OF  THE  MIND.  171 

him  to  make  progress  always,  not  simply  to  repeat 
himself.  If  he  has  awkward  habits  of  movement 
with  his  hands  and  feet,  try  to  get  him  interested 
in  games  that  exercise  these  members  in  regular 
and  skilful  ways. 

Furthermore,  in  his  intellectual  tasks  such  a 
pupil  should  be  trained,  as  far  as  may  be,  on  the 
more  abstract  subjects,  which  do  not  give  imme- 
diate openings  for  action.  Mathematics is  the 
best  possible  discipline  for  rTfflTT^Trrarnmar  also 
is  good;  it  serves  at  once  to  interest  him,  if  it  is 
well  taught,  in  certain  abstract  relationships,  and 
also  to  send  out  his  motor  energies  in  the  exer- 
cise of  speech,  which  is  the  function  which  al- 
ways needs  exercise,  and  which  is  always  under 
the  observation  of  the  teacher,  ^jjjjnjmar,  in  fact, 
is  one  of  the  very  best  of  primary-school  Tubjects, 
because  instruction  in  it  issues  at  once  in  the  very 
motor  functions  which  embody  the  relationships 
which  the  teacher  seeks  to  impress.  The  teacher 
has  in  his  ear,  so  to  speak,  the  evidence  as  to 
whether  his  instruction  is  understood  or  not. 
This  gives  him  a  valuable  opportunity  to  keep 
his  instruction  well  ahead  of  its  motor  expres- 
sion —  thus  leading  the  pupil  to  think  rather 
than  to  act  without  thinking — and  at  the  same 
time  to  point  out  the  errors  of  performance 
which  follow  from  haste  in  passing  from  thought 
to  action. 

These  indirect  methods  of  reaching  the  impul- 
sive pupil  should  never  be  cast  aside  for  the  direct 
effort  to  "  control  "  such  a  scholar.  The  very  worst 
thing  that  can  be  done  to  such  a  boy  or  girl  is  to 
command  him  or  her  to  sit  still  or  not  to  act; 
and  a  still  worse  thing — to  make  a  comparative 
again  on  the  head  of  the  superlative — is  to  affix 


172  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

to  the  command  painful  penalties.  This  is  a  di- 
rect violation  of  the  principle  of  Suggestion. 
Such  a  command  only  tends  to  empty  the  pupil's 
mind  of  other  objects  of  thought  and  interest,  and 
so  to  keep  his  attention  upon  his  own  movements. 
This,  then,  amounts  to  a  continual  suggestion  to 
him  to  do  just  what  you  want  to  keep  him  from 
doing.  On  the  contrary,  unless  you  give  him 
suggestions  and  interests  which  lead  his  thought 
away  from  his  acts,  it  is  impossible  not  to  aggra- 
vate his  bad  tendencies  by  your  very  efforts.  This 
is  the  way,  as  I  intimated  above,  that  many  teach- 
ers create  or  confirm  bad  habits  in  their  pupils, 
and  so  render  any  amount  of  well-intended  posi- 
tive instruction  abortive.  It  seems  well  estab- 
lished that  a  suggestion  of  the  negative — that  is, 
not  to  do  a  thing — has  no  negative  force ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  in  the  early  period,  it  amounts 
only  to  a  stronger  suggestion  in  the  positive 
sense,  since  it  adds  emphasis,  to  the  thing  which 
is  forbidden.  The  "  not  "  in  a  prohibition  is  no 
addition  to  the  pictured  course  to  which  it  is 
attached,  and  the  physiological  fact  that  the  at- 
tention tends  to  set  up  action  upon  that  which  is 
attended  to  comes  in  to  put  a  premium  on  dis- 
obedience. Indeed,  the  philosophy  of  all  punish- 
ment rests  in  this  consideration,  i.  e.,  that  unless 
the  penalty  tends  to  fill  the  mind  with  some  object 
other  than  the  act  punished,  it  does  more  harm 
than  good.  The  punishment  must  be  actual  and 
its  nature  diverting;  never  a  threat  which  termi- 
nates there,  nor  a  penalty  which  fixes  the  thought 
of  the  offence  more  strongly  in  mind.  This  is  to 
say,  that  the  permanent  inhibition  of  a  movement 
at  this  period  is  best  secured  by  establishing  some 
different  movement. 


THE   TRAINING  OF   THE   MIND.  173 

The  further  consideration  of  the  cases  of  great 
motility  would  lead  to  the  examination  of  the 
kinds  of  memory  and  imagination  and  their  treat- 
ment ;  to  that  we  return  below.  We  may  now 
take  up  the  instances  of  the  sensory  type  consid- 
ered with  equal  generality. 

The  sensory  children  are  in  the  main  those 
which  seem  more  passive,  more  troubled  with 
physical  inertia,  more  contemplative  when  a  little 
older,  less  apt  in  learning  to  act  out  new  move- 
ments, less  quick  at  taking  a  hint,  etc. 

These  children  are  generally  further  distin- 
guished as  being — and  here  the  antithesis  to  the 
motor  ones  is  very  marked — much  less  suggesti- 
ble. They  seem  duller  when  young.  Boys  often 
get  credit  for  dulness  compared  with  girls  on  this 
account.  Even  as  early  as  the  second  year  can 
this  distinction  among  children  be  readily  ob- 
served in  many  instances.  The  motor  child  will 
show  sorrow  by  loud  crying  and  vigorous  action, 
while  the  sensory  child  will  grieve  in  quiet,  and 
continue  to  grieve  when  the  other  has  forgotten 
the  disagreeable  occurrence  altogether.  The  mo- 
tor one  it  is  that  asks  a  great  many  questions  and 
seems  to  learn  little  from  the  answers ;  while  the 
sensory  one  learns  simply  from  hearing  the  ques- 
tions of  the  other  and  the  answers  given  to  them. 
The  motor  child,  again,  gets  himself  hurt  a  great 
many  times  in  the  same  way,  without  developing 
enough  self-control  to  restrain  himself  from  the 
same  mistake  again  and  again ;  the  sensory  child 
tends  to  be  timid  in  the  presence  of  the  unknown 
and  uncertain,  to  learn  from  one  or  a  few  experi- 
ences, and  to  hold  back  until  he  gets  satisfactory 
assurances  that  danger  is  absent.  The  former 
tends  to  be  more  restless  in  sitting,  standing,  etc., 
13 


174  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

more  demonstrative  in  affection,  more  impulsive 
in  action,  more  forgiving  in  disposition. 

As  to  the  treatment  of  the  sensory  child,  it  is  a 
problem  of  even  greater  difficulty  and  danger  than 
that  of  his  motor  brother.  The  very  nature  of 
the  distinction  makes  it  evident  that  while  the 
motor  individual  "  gives  himself  away,"  so  to 
speak,  by  constantly  acting  out  his  impressions, 
and  so  revealing  his  progress  and  his  errors,  with 
the  other  it  is  not  so.  All  knowledge  that  we 
are  ever  able  to  get  of  the  mental  condition  of 
another  individual  is  through  his  movements,  ex- 
pressive, in  a  technical  sense,  or  of  other  kinds, 
such  as  his  actions,  attitudes,  lines  of  conduct,  etc. 
We  have  no  way  to  read  thought  directly.  So  just 
in  so  far  as  the  sensory  individual  is  less  active, 
to  that  degree  he  is  less  expressive,  less  self- 
revealing.  To  the  teacher,  therefore,  he  is  more 
of  an  enigma.  It  is  harder  to  tell  in  his  case  what 
instruction  he  has  appreciated  and  made  his  own; 
and  what,  on  the  other  hand,  has  been  too  hard 
for  him ;  what  wise,  and  what  unwise.  Where  the 
child  of  movement  speaks  out  his  impulsive  inter- 
pretations, this  one  sinks  into  himself  and  gives 
no  answer.  So  we  are  deprived  of  the  best  way 
of  interpreting  him — that  afforded  by  his  own  in- 
terpretation of  himself. 

A  general  policy  of  caution  is  therefore 
strongly  to  be  recommended.  Let  the  teacher 
wait  in  every  case  for  some  positive  indication  of 
the  child's  real  state  of  mind.  Even  the  directions 
given  the  child  may  not  have  been  understood,  or 
the  quick  word  of  admonition  may  have  wounded 
him,  or  a  duty  which  is  so  elementary  as  to  be  a 
commonplace  in  the  mental  life  of  the  motor  child 
may  yet  be  so  vaguely  apprehended  that  to  insist 


THE  TRAINING  OF  THE  MIND.  175 

upon  its  direct  performance  may  cost  the  teacher 
all  his  influence  with  the  pupil  of  this  type.  It  is 
better  to  wait  even  at  the  apparent  risk  of  losing 
valuable  days  than  to  proceed  a  single  step  upon 
a  mistaken  estimate  of  the  child's  measure  of 
assimilation.  And,  further,  the  effect  of  wrong 
treatment  upon  this  boy  or  girl  is  very  different 
from  that  of  a  similar  mistake  in  the  other  case. 
He  becomes  more  silent,  retired,  even  secretive, 
when  once  an  unsympathetic  relationship  is  sug- 
gested between  him  and  his  elder. 

Then  more  positively — his  instruction  should 
be  well  differentiated.  He  should  in  every  pos- 
sible case  be  given  inducements  to  express  him- 
self. Let  him  recite  a  great  deal.  Give  him 
simple  verses  to  repeat.  Keep  him  talking  all 
you  can.  Show  him  his  mistakes  with  the  utmost 
deliberation  and  kindliness  of  manner  ;  and  induce 
him  to  repeat  his  performances  in  your  hearing 
after  the  correction  has  been  suggested.  Culti- 
vate the  imitative  tendency  in  him ;  it  is  the  hand- 
maid to  the  formation  of  facile  habits  of  action. 
In  arranging  the  children's  games,  see  that  he 
gets  the  very  active  parts,  even  though  he  be 
backward  and  hesitating  about  assuming  them. 
Make  him  as  far  as  possible  a  leader,  in  order  to 
cultivate  his  sense  of  responsibility  for  the  doing 
of  things,  and  to  lead  to  the  expression  of  his 
understanding  of  arrangements,  etc.  In  it  all,  the 
essential  thing  is  to  bring  him  out  in  some  kind 
of  expression ;  both  for  the  sake  of  the  improved 
balance  it  gives  himself,  and  as  an  indication  to 
the  observant  teacher  of  his  progress  and  of  the 
next  step  to  be  taken  in  his  development. 

It  is  for  the  sensory  child,  I  think,  that  the 
kindergarten  has  its  great  utility.  It  gives  him 


176  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

facility  in  movement  and  expression,  and  also 
some  degree  of  personal  and  social  confidence. 
But  for  the  same  reasons  the  kindergarten  over- 
stimulates  the  motor  scholars  at  the  correspond- 
ing age.  There  should  really  be  two  kindergarten 
methods — one  based  on  the  idea  of  deliberation, 
the  other  on  that  of  expression. 

The  task  of  the  educator  here,  it  is  evident, 
is  to  help  nature  correct  a  tendency  to  one-sided 
development;  just  as  the  task  is  this  also  in  the 
former  case;  but  here  the  variation  is  on  the  side 
of  idiosyncrasy  ultimately,  and  of  genius  imme- 
diately. For  genius,  I  think,  is  the  more  often 
developed  from  the  contemplative  mind,  with  the 
relatively  dammed-up  brain,  of  this  child,  than 
from  the  smooth-working  machine  of  the  motor 
one.  But  just  for  this  reason,  if  the  damming- 
up  be  liberated,  not  in  the  channels  of  healthy 
assimilation,  and  duly  correlated  growth,  but  in 
the  forced  discharges  of  violent  emotion,  fol- 
lowed by  conditions  of  melancholy  and  by  certain 
unsocial  tendencies,  then  the  promise  of  genius 
ripens  into  eccentricity,  and  the  blame  is  possi- 
bly ours. 

It  seems  true — although  great  caution  is  neces- 
sary in  drawing  inferences — that  here  a  certain  dis- 
tinction may  be  found  to  hold  also  between  the 
sexes.  It  is  possible  that  the  apparent  precocious 
alertness  of  girls  in  their  school  years,  and  earlier, 
may  be  simply  a  predominance  among  them  of 
the  motor  individuals.  This  is  borne  out  by  the 
examination  of  the  kinds  of  performance  in  which 
they  seem  to  be  more  forward  than  boys.  It  re- 
solves itself,  so  far  as  my  observation  goes,  into 
greater  quickness  of  response  and  greater  agility 
in  performance ;  not  greater  constructiveness,  nor 


THE   TRAINING  OF   THE   MIND.  177 

greater  power  of  concentrated  attention.  The 
boys  se,em  to  need  more  instruction  because  they 
do  not  learn  as  much  for  themselves  by  acting 
upon  what  they  already  know.  In  later  years,  the 
distinction  gets  levelled  off  by  the  common  agen- 
cies of  education,  and  by  the  setting  of  tasks  re- 
quiring more  thought  than  the  mere  spontaneities 
of  either  type  avail  to  furnish.  Yet  all  the  way 
through,  I  think  there  is  something  in  the  ordi- 
nary belief  that  woman  is  relatively  more  impul- 
sive and  more  prone  to  the  less  reflective  forms 
of  action. 

What  has  now  been  said  may  be  sufficient  to 
give  some  concrete  force  to  the  common  opinion 
that  education  should  take  account  of  the  individ- 
ual character  at  this  earliest  stage.  The  general 
distinction  between  sensory  and  motor  has,  how- 
ever, a  higher  application  in  the  matter  of  memory 
and  imagination  at  later  stages  of  growth,  to  which 
we  may  now  turn. 

Second  Period. — The  research  is  of  course  more 
difficult  as  the  pupil  grows  older,  since  the  influ- 
ences of  heredity  tend  to  become  blurred  by  the 
more  constant  elements  of  the  child's  home,  school, 
and  general  social  environment.  The  child  whom 
I  described  just  above  as  sensory  in  his  type  is 
constantly  open  to  influences  from  the  stimulat- 
ing behaviour  of  his  motor  companion,  as  well  as 
from  the  direct  measures  which  parent  and  teacher 
take  to  overcome  his  too-decided  tendencies  and 
to  prevent  one-sided  development.  So,  too,  the 
motor  child  tends  to  find  correctives  in  his  envi- 
ronment. 

The  analogy,  however,  between  the  more  or- 
ganic and  hereditary  differences  in  individuals,  and 
the  intellectual  and  moral  variations  which  they 


178  THE  STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

tend  to  develop  with  advance  in  school  age,  is 
very  marked  ;  and  we  find  a  similar  series  of  dis- 
tinctions in  the  later  period.  The  reason  that  there 
is  a  correspondence  between  the  variations  given 
in  heredity  and  those  due  in  the  main  to  the  edu- 
cative influences  of  the  single  child's  social  envi- 
ronment is  in  itself  very  suggestive,  but  space 
does  not  permit  its  exposition  here. 

The  fact  is  this :  the  child  tends,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  his  home,  school,  social  surroundings, 
etc.,  to  develop  a  marked  character  either  in  the 
sensory  or  in  the  motor  direction,  in  his  memory, 
imagination,  and  general  type  of  mind. 

Taking  up  the  "  motor  "  child  first,  as  before, 
we  find  that  his  psychological  growth  tends  to  con- 
firm him  in  his  hereditary  type.  In  all  his  social 
dealing  with  other  children  he  is  more  or  less  dom- 
ineering and  self-assertive;  or  at  least  his  conduct 
leads  one  to  form  that  opinion  of  him.  He  seems 
to  be  constantly  impelled  to  act  so  as  to  show 
himself  off.  He  "  performs  "  before  people,  shows 
less  modesty  than  may  be  thought  desirable  in 
one  of  his  tender  years,  impresses  the  forms  of  his 
own  activity  upon  the  other  children,  who  come  to 
stand  about  him  with  minds  constrained  to  follow 
him.  He  is  an  object  lesson  in  both  the  advan- 
tages and  the  risks  of  an  aggressive  life  policy. 
He  has  a  suggestion  to  make  in  every  emergency, 
a  line  of  conduct  for  each  of  his  company,  all 
marked  out  or  supplied  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
ment by  his  own  quick  sense  of  appropriate  ac- 
tion ;  and  for  him,  as  for  no  one  else,  to  hesitate 
is  to  be  lost. 

Now  what  this  general  policy  or  method  of 
growth  means  to  his  consciousness  is  becoming 
more  and  more  clear  in  the  light  of  the  theory  of 


THE   TRAINING  OF  THE   MIND.  179 

mental  types.  The  reason  a  person  is  motor  is 
that  his  mind  tends  always  to  be  filled  up  most 
easily  with  memories  or  revived  images  of  the 
twitchings,  tensions,  contractions,  expansions,  of 
the  activities  of  the  muscular  system.  He  is  a 
motor  because  the  means  of  his  thought  generally, 
the  mental  coins  which  pass  current  in  his  thought 
exchange,  are  muscular  sensations  or  the  traces 
which  such  sensations  have  left  in  his  memory. 
The  very  means  by  which  he  thinks  of  a  situation, 
an  event,  a  duty,  is  not  the  way  it  looked,  or  the 
way  it  sounded,  or  the  way  it  smelt,  tasted,  or  felt 
to  the  touch — in  any  of  the  experiences  to  which 
these  senses  are  involved — but  the  means,  the 
representatives,  the  instruments  of  his  thought, 
are  the  feelings  of  the  way  he  has  acted.  He  has 
a  tendency — and  he  comes  to  have  it  more  and 
more — to  get  a  muscular  representation  of  every- 
thing ;  and  his  gauge  of  the  value  of  this  or  that 
is  this  muscular  measure  of  it,  in  terms  of  the  ac- 
tion which  it  is  calculated  to  draw  out. 

It  is  then  this  preference  for  one  particular 
kind  of  mental  imagery,  and  that  the  motor,  or 
muscular  kind,  which  gives  this  type  of  child  his 
peculiarity  in  this  more  psychological  period. 
When  we  pass  from  the  mere  outward  and  organic 
description  of  his  peculiarities,  attempted  above 
in  the  case  of  very  young  children,  and  aim  to 
ascertain  the  mental  peculiarity  which  accom- 
panies it  and  carries  on  the  type  through  the  in- 
dividual's maturer  years,  we  see  our  way  to  its 
meaning.  The  fact  is  that  a  peculiar  kind  of 
mental  imagery  tends  to  swell  up  in  consciousness 
and  monopolize  the  theatre  of  thought.  This  is 
only  another  way  of  saying  that  the  attention  is 
more  or  less  educated  in  the  direction  represented 


180  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

by  this  sort  of  imagery.  Every  time  a  movement 
is  thought  of,  in  preference  to  a  sound  or  a  sight 
which  is  also  available,  the  habit  of  giving  the  at- 
tention to  the  muscular  equivalents  of  things  be- 
comes more  firmly  fixed.  This  continues  until 
the  motor  habit  of  attention  becomes  the  only 
easy  and  normal  way  of  attending  ;  and  then  the 
person  is  fixed  in  his  type  for  one,  many,  or  all  of 
his  activities  of  thinking  and  action. 

So  now  it  is  no  longer  difficult  to  see,  I  trust, 
why  it  is  that  the  child  or  youth  of  this  sort  has 
the  characteristics  which  he  has.  It  is  a  familiar 
principle  that  attention  to  the  thought  of  a  move- 
ment tends  to  start  that  very  movement.  I  defy 
any  of  my  readers  to  think  hard  and  long  of  wink- 
ing the  left  eye  and  not  have  an  almost  irresisti- 
ble impulse  to  wink  that  eye.  There  is  no  better 
way  to  make  it  difficult  for  a  child  to  sit  still  than 
to  tell  him  to  sit  still ;  for  your  words  fill  up  his 
attention,  as  I  had  occasion  to  say  above,  with  the 
thought  of  movements,  and  these  thoughts  bring 
on  the  movements,  despite  the  best  intentions  of 
the  child  in  the  way  of  obedience.  Watch  an  au- 
dience of  little  children — and  children  of  an  older 
growth  will  also  do — when  an  excited  speaker 
harangues  them  with  many  gestures,  and  see  the 
comical  reproduction  of  the  gestures  by  the  chil- 
dren's hands.  They  picture  the  movements,  the 
attention  is  fixed  on  them,  and  appropriate  actions 
follow. 

It  is  only  the  generalizing  of  these  phenomena 
that  we  find  realized  in  the  boy  or  girl  of  the  mo- 
tor type.  Such  a  child  is  constantly  thinking  of 
things  by  their  movement  equivalents.  Muscular 
sensations  throng  up  in  consciousness  at  every 
possible  signal  and  by  every  train  of  association  ; 


THE   TRAINING  OF   THE   MIND.  181 

so  it  is  not  at  all  surprising  that  all  informations, 
instructions,  warnings,  reproofs,  suggestions,  pass 
right  through  such  a  child's  consciousness  and  ex- 
press themselves  by  the  channels  of  movement. 
Hence  the  impulsive,  restless,  domineering,  un- 
meditative  character  of  the  child.  We  may  now 
endeavour  to  describe  a  little  more  closely  his 
higher  mental  traits. 

1.  In  the  first  place  the  motor  mind  tends  to 
very  quick  generalization.     Every  teacher  knows  the 
boys  in  school  who  anticipate  their  conclusions, 
on  the  basis  of  a  single  illustration.     They  reach 
the  general  notion  which  is  most  broad  in  extent, 
in  application,  but  most  shallow  in  intent,  in  rich- 
ness, in  real  explaining  or  descriptive   meaning. 
For  example,  such  a  boy  will  hear  the  story  of 
Napoleon,  proceed  to  define  heroism  in  terms  of 
military  success,  and  then  go  out  and  try  the  Na- 
poleon act  upon  his  playfellows.     This  tendency 
to  generalize  is  the  mental  counterpart  of  the  tend- 
ency to  act  seen  in  his  conduct.     The  reason  he 
generalizes  is  that  the  brain  energies  are  not  held 
back  in  the  channels  of  perception,  but  pour  them- 
selves right  out  toward  the  motor  equivalents  of 
former  perceptions  which  were  in  any  way  simi- 
lar ;  then  the  present  perceptions  are  lost  in  the 
old  ones  toward  which  attention  is  held  by  habit, 
and  action  follows.     To  the  child  all  heroes  are 
Napoleons  because  Napoleon  was  the  first  hero, 
and  the  channels  of  action  inspired  by  him  suffice 
now  for  the  appropriate  conduct. 

2.  Such  a  scholar  is  \ try  poor  at  noting  and  re- 
membering distinctions.    This  follows  naturally  from 
the  hasty  generalizations  which  he  makes.     Hav- 
ing once  identified  a  new  fact  as  the  same  as  an 
old  one,  and  having  so  reached  a  defective  sense 


1 82  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

of  the  general  class,  it  is  then  more  and  more  hard 
for  him  to  retrace  his  steps  and  sort  out  the  expe- 
riences more  carefully.  Even  when  he  discovers 
his  mistake,  his  old  impulse  to  act  seizes  him  again, 
and  he  rushes  to  some  new  generalization  where- 
with to  replace  the  old,  again  falling  into  error  by 
his  stumbling  haste  to  act.  The  teacher  is  oftener 
perhaps  brought  to  the  verge  of  impatience  by 
scholars  of  this  class  than  by  any  others. 

3.  Following,  again,  from  these  characteristics, 
there  is  a  third  remark  to  be  made  about  the  youth 
of  this  type  ;  and  it  bears  upon  a  peculiarity  which 
it  is  very  hard  for  the  teacher  to  estimate  and  con- 
trol. These  motor  boys  and  girls  have  what  I  may 
characterize  as  fluidity  of  the  attention.  By  this  is 
meant  a  peculiar  quality  of  mind  which  all  expe- 
rienced teachers  are  in  some  degree  familiar  with, 
and  which  they  find  baffling  and  unmanageable. 

By  "fluidity"  of  the  attention  I  mean  the  state 
of  hurry,  rush,  inadequate  inspection,  quick  transi- 
tion, all-too-ready-assimilation,  hear-but-not-heed, 
in-one-ear-and-out-the-other  habit  of  mind.  The 
best  way  to  get  an  adequate  sense  of  the  state  is 
to  recall  the  pupil  who  has  it  to  the  most  marked 
degree,  and  picture  his  mode  of  dealing  with  your 
instructions.  Such  a  pupil  hears  your  words,  says 
"  yes,"  even  acts  appropriately  so  far  as  your  im- 
mediate instructions  go  ;  but  when  he  comes  to 
the  same  situation  again,  he  is  as  virginly  inno- 
cent of  your  lesson  as  if  his  teacher  had  never 
been  born.  Psychologically,  the  state  differs  from 
preoccupation,  which  characterizes  quite  a  differ- 
ent type  of  mind.  The  motor  boy  is  not  preoccu- 
pied. Far  from  that,  he  is  quite  ready  to  attend  to 
you.  But  when  he  attends,  it  is  with  a  momentary 
concentration — with  a  rush  like  the  flow  of  a 


THE  TRAINING  OF  THE  MIND.  183 

mountain  stream  past  the  point  of  the  bank  on 
which  you  sit.  His  attention  is  flowing,  always 
in  transition,  leaping  from  "  it  to  that,"  with  su- 
perb agility  and  restlessness.  But  the  exercise  it 
gains  from  its  movements  is  its  only  reward.  Its 
acquisitions  are  slender  in  the  extreme.  It  illus- 
trates, on  the  mental  plane,  the  truth  of  the  "  roll- 
ing stone."  It  corresponds,  as  a  mental  charac- 
ter, to  the  muscular  restlessness  which  the  same 
type  of  child  shows  in  the  earlier  period  previously 
spoken  of. 

The  psychological  explanation  of  this  "  fluid 
attention  "  is  more  or  less  plain,  but  I  can  not  take 
space  to  expound  it.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the 
attention  is  itself,  probably,  in  its  brain  seat,  a 
matter  of  the  motor  centres ;  its  physical  seat  both 
"gives  and  takes"  in  co-operation  with  the  pro- 
cesses which  shed  energy  out  into  the  muscles. 
So  it  follows  that,  in  the  ready  muscular  revivals, 
discharges,  transitions,  which  we  have  seen  to  be 
prominent  in  the  motor  temperament  the  atten- 
tion is  carried  along,  and  its  "  fluidity  "  is  only  an 
incident  to  the  fluidity  of  the  motor  symbols  of 
which  this  sort  of  a  mind  continually  makes  use. 

Coming  a  little  closer  to  the  pedagogical  prob- 
lems which  this  type  of  pupil  raises  before  us,  we 
find,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  is  excessively  diffi- 
cult for  this  scholar  to  give  continuous  or  ade- 
quate attention  to  anything  of  any  complexity. 
The  movements  of  attention  are  so  easy,  the  out- 
lets of  energy,  to  use  the  physical  figure,  so  large 
and  well  used,  that  the  minor  relationships  of  the 
thing  are  passed  over.  The  variations  of  the  ob- 
ject from  its  class  are  swept  away  in  the  onrush 
of  his  motor  tendencies.  He  assumes  the  facts 
which  he  does  not  understand,  and  goes  right  on 


184  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

to  express  himself  in  action  on  these  assumptions. 
So  while  he  seems  to  take  in  what  is  told  him, 
with  an  intuition  that  is  surprisingly  swift,  and  a 
personal  adaptation  no  less  surprising,  the  disap- 
pointment is  only  the  more  keen  when  the  in- 
structor finds  the  next  day  that  he  has  not  pene- 
trated at  all  into  the  inner  current  of  this  scholar's 
mental  processes. 

Again,  as  marked  as  this  is  in  its  early  stages, 
the  continuance  of  it  leads  to  results  which  are 
nothing  short  of  deplorable.  When  such  a  stu- 
dent has  gone  through  a  preparatory  school  with- 
out overcoming  this  tendency  to  "fluid  atten- 
tion "  and  comes  to  college,  the  instructors  in  the 
higher  institutions  are  practically  helpless  before 
him.  We  say  of  him  that  "  he  has  never  learned 
to  study,"  that  he  does  not  know  "how  to  apply 
himself,"  that  he  has  no  "power  of  assimilation." 
All  of  which  simply  means  that  his  channels  of 
reaction  are  so  formed  already  that  no  instruc- 
tion can  get  sufficient  lodgment  in  him  to  bring 
about  any  modification  of  his  "  apperceptive  sys- 
tems." The  embarrassment  is  the  more  marked 
because  such  a  youth,  all  through  his  educa- 
tion period,  is  willing,  ready,  evidently  receptive, 
prompt,  and  punctual  in  all  his  tasks. 

Now  what  shall  be  done  with  such  a  student 
in  his  early  school  years  ?  This  is  a  question  for 
the  secondary  teacher  especially,  apart  from  the 
more  primary  measures  recommended  above.  It 
is  in  the  years  between  eight  and  fifteen  that  this 
type  of  mind  has  its  rapid  development;  before 
that  the  treatment  is  mainly  preventive,  and  con- 
sists largely  in  suggestions  which  aim  to  make 
the  muscular  discharges  more  deliberate  and  the 
general  tone  less  explosive.  But  when  the  boy 


THE   TRAINING  OF  THE   MIND.  185 

or  girl  comes  to  school  with  the  dawning  capa- 
city for  independent  self-direction  and  personal 
application,  then  it  is  that  the  problem  of  the  mo- 
tor scholar  becomes  critical.  The  "  let-alone  " 
method  puts  a  premium  upon  the  development  of 
his  tendencies  and  the  eventual  playing  out  of 
his  mental  possibilities  in  mere  motion.  Certain 
positive  ways  of  giving  some  indirect  discipline 
to  the  mind  of  this  type  may  be  suggested. 

Give  this  student  relatively  difficult  and  com- 
plex tasks.  There  is  no  way  to  hinder  his  ex- 
uberant self-discharges  except  by  measures  which 
embarrass  and  baffle  him.  We  can  not  "  lead  him 
into  all  truth";  we  have  to  drive  him  back  from 
all  error.  The  lessons  of  psychology  are  to  the 
effect  that  the  normal  way  to  teach  caution  and 
deliberation  is  the  way  of  failure,  repulse,  and 
unfortunate,  even  painful,  consequences.  Per- 
sonal appeals  to  him  do  little  good,  since  it  is  a 
part  of  his  complaint  that  he  is  too  ready  to  hear 
all  appeals;  and  also,  since  he  is  not  aware  of  his 
own  lack  nor  able  to  carry  what  he  hears  into  ef- 
fect. So  keep  him  in  company  of  scholars  a  lit- 
tle more  advanced  than  he  is.  Keep  him  out  of 
the  concert  recitations,  where  his  tendency  to 
haste  would  work  both  personal  and  social  harm. 
Refrain  from  giving  him  assistance  in  his  tasks 
until  he  has  learned  from  them  something  of  the 
real  lesson  of  discouragement,  and  then  help  him 
only  by  degrees,  and  by  showing  him  one  step  at 
a  time,  with  constant  renewals  of  his  own  efforts. 
Shield  him  with  the  greatest  pains  from  distrac- 
tions of  all  kinds,  tor  even  the  things  and  events 
about  him  may  carry  his  attention  off  at  the  most 
critical  moments.  Give  him  usually  the  second- 
ary parts  in  the  games  of  the  school,  except  when 


1 86  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

real  planning,  complex  execution,  and  more  or 
less  generalship  are  required;  then  give  him  the 
leading  parts  :  they  exercise  his  activities  in  new 
ways  not  covered  by  habit,  and  if  he  do  not  rise 
to  their  complexity,  then  the  other  party  to  the 
sport  will,  and  his  haste  will  have  its  own  punish- 
ment, and  so  be  a  lesson  to  him. 

Besides  these  general  checks  and  regulations, 
there  remains  the  very  important  question  as  to 
what  studies  are  most  available  for  this  type  of 
mind.  I  have  intimated  already  the  general  an- 
swer that  ought  to  be  given  to  this  question.  The 
aim  of  the  studies  of  the  motor  student  should  be 
discipline  in  the  direction  of  correct  generaliza- 
tion, and,  as  helpful  to  this,  discipline  in  careful 
observation  of  concrete  facts.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  studies  which  involve  principles  simply  of  a 
descriptive  kind  should  have  little  place  in  his 
daily  study.  They  call  out  largely  the  more  me- 
chanical operations  of  memory,  and  their  com- 
mand can  be  secured  for  the  most  part  by  mere 
repetition  of  details  all  similar  in  character  and 
of  equal  value.  The  measure  of  the  utility  to 
him  of  the  different  studies  of  the  schoolroom  is 
found  in  the  relative  demand  they  make  upon 
him  to  modify  his  hasty  personal  reactions,  to 
suspend  his  thoughtless  rush  to  general  results, 
and  back  of  it  all,  to  hold  the  attention  long  enough 
upon  the  facts  as  they  arise  to  get  some  sense  of 
the  logical  relationships  which  bind  them  togeth- 
er. Studies  which  do  not  afford  any  logical  rela- 
tionships, and  which  tend,  on  the  contrary,  to  fos- 
ter the  habit  of  learning  by  repetition,  only  tend 
to  fix  the  student  in  the  quality  of  attention  which 
I  have  called  "  fluidity." 

In  particular,  therefore :  give  this  student  all 


THE   TRAINING  OF  THE   MIND.  187 

the  mathematics  he  can  absorb,  and  pass  him  from 
arithmetic  into  geometry,  leaving  his  algebra  till 
later.  Give  him  plenty  of  grammar,  taught  in- 
ductively. Start  him  early  in  the  elements  of 
physics  and  chemistry.  And  as  opposed  to  this, 
keep  him  out  of  the  classes  of  descriptive  botany 
and  zoology.  Rather  let  him  join  exploring  par- 
ties for  the  study  of  plants,  stones,  and  animals. 
A  few  pet  animals  are  a  valuable  adjunct  to  any 
school  museum.  If  there  be  an  industrial  school 
or  machine  shop  near  at  hand,  try  to  get  him  in- 
terested in  the  way  things  are  made,  and  encour- 
age him  to  join  in  such  employments.  A  false 
generalization  in  the  wheels  of  a  cart  supplies  its 
own  corrective  very  quickly,  or  in  the  rigging  and 
sails  of  a  toy  boat.  Drawing  from  models  is  a 
fine  exercise  for  such  a  youth,  and  drawing  from 
life,  as  soon  as  he  gets  a  little  advanced  in  the 
control  of  his  pencil.  All  this,  it  is  easy  to  see, 
trains  his  impulsive  movements  into  some  degree 
of  subjection  to  the  deliberative  processes. 

With  this  general  line  of  treatment  in  mind, 
the  details  of  which  the  reader  will  work  out  in 
the  light  of  the  boy's  type,  space  allows  me  only 
two  more  points  before  I  pass  to  the  sensory 
scholar. 

First,  in  all  the  teaching  of  the  type  of  mind 
now  in  question,  pursue  a  method  which  proceeds 
from  the  particular  to  the  general.  The  discus- 
sion of  pedagogical  method  with  all  its  ins  and 
outs  needs  to  take  cognizance  of  the  differences 
of  students  in  their  type.  The  motor  student 
should  never,  in  normal  cases,  be  given  a  general 
formula  and  told  to  work  out  particular  instances; 
that  is  too  much  his  tendency  already — to  ap- 
proach facts  from  the  point  of  view  of  their  re- 


1 88  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

semblances.  What  he  needs  rather  is  a  sense  of 
the  dignity  of  the  single  fact,  and  of  the  neces- 
sity of  giving  it  its  separate  place,  before  hasten- 
ing on  to  lose  it  in  the  flow  of  a  general  state- 
ment. So  whether  the  teacher  have  in  hand  math- 
ematics, grammar,  or  science,  let  him  disclose  the 
principles  only  gradually,  and  always  only  so  far 
as  they  are  justified  by  the  observations  which 
the  boy  has  been  led  to  make  for  himself.  For 
the  reason  that  such  a  method  is  practically  im- 
possible in  the  descriptive  sciences,  and  some 
other  branches,  as  taught  in  the  schoolbooks — 
botany,  zoology,  and,  worse  than  all,  history  and 
geography — we  should  restrict  their  part  in  the 
discipline  studies  of  such  a  youth.  They  require 
simple  memory,  without  observation,  and  put  a 
premium  on  hasty  and  temporary  acquisition. 

As  I  have  said,  algebra  should  be  subordinated 
to  geometry.  Algebra  has  as  its  distinctive  meth- 
od the  principle  of  substitution,  whereby  symbols 
of  equal  and,  for  the  most  part,  absolute  general- 
ity are  substituted  for  one  another,  and  the  re- 
sults stand  for  one  fact  as  well  as  for  another,  in 
disregard  of  the  worth  of  the  particular  in  the 
scheme  of  nature.  For  the  same  reason,  deduct- 
ive logic  is  not  a  good  discipline  for  these  stu- 
dents ;  empirical  psychology,  or  political  econo- 
my, is  a  better  introduction  to  the  moral  sciences 
for  them  when  they  reach  the  high  school.  This 
explains  what  was  meant  above  in  the  remark  as 
to  the  method  of  teaching  grammar.  As  to  lan- 
guage study  generally,  I  think  the  value  of  it,  at 
this  period,  and  later,  is  extraordinarily  overrated. 
The  proportion  of  time  given  to  language  study 
in  our  secondary  schools  is  nothing  short  of  a 
public  crime  in  its  effect  upon  students  of  this 


THE  TRAINING  OF  THE   MIND.  189 

type — and  indeed  of  any  type.  This,  however,  is 
a  matter  to  which  we  return  below.  The  average 
student  comes  to  college  with  his  sense  of  explo- 
ration, his  inductive  capacity,  stifled  at  its  birth. 
He  stands  appalled  when  confronted  with  the  un- 
assimilated  details  of  any  science  which  does  not 
give  him  a  "key  "  in  the  shape  of  general  formu- 
las made  up  beforehand.  Were  it  not  that  his 
enlarging  experience  of  life  is  all  the  while 
running  counter  to  the  trend  of  his  so-called 
education,  he  would  probably  graduate  ready 
for  the  social  position  in  which  authority  takes 
the  place  of  evidence,  and  imitation  is  the  method 
of  life. 

Second,  the  teacher  should  be  on  the  lookout 
for  a  tendency  which  is  very  characteristic  of  a 
student  of  this  type,  the  tendency,  i.  e.,  to  fall 
into  elaborate  guessing  at  results.  Take  a  little 
child  of  about  seven  or  eight  years  of  age,  espe- 
cially one  who  has  the  marks  of  motor  heredity, 
and  observe  the  method  of  his  acquisition  of  new 
words  in  reading.  First  he  speaks  the  word  which 
his  habit  dictates,  and,  that  being  wrong,  he  rolls 
his  eyes  away  from  the  text  and  makes  a  guess 
of  the  first  word  that  comes  into  his  mind;  this 
he  keeps  up  as  long  as  the  teacher  persists  in  ask- 
ing him  to  try  again.  Here  is  the  same  tendency 
that  carries  him  later  on  in  his  education  to  a 
general  conclusion  by  a  short  cut.  He  has  not 
learned  to  interpret  the  data  of  a  deliberate  judg- 
ment, and  his  attention  does  not  dwell  on  the 
necessary  details.  So  with  him  all  through  his 
training;  he  is  always  ready  with  a  guess.  Here, 
again,  the  teacher  can  do  him  good  only  by  pa- 
tiently employing  the  inductive  method.  Lead 
him  back  to  the  simplest  elements  of  the  problem 
14 


1 90  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

in  hand,  and  help  him  gradually  to  build  up  a  re- 
sult step  by  step. 

I  think  in  this,  as  in  most  of  the  work  with 
these  scholars,  the  association  with  children  of 
the  opposite  type  is  one  of  the  best  correctives, 
provided  the  companionship  is  not  made  altogeth- 
er one-sided  by  tne  motor  boy's  perpetual  monop- 
olizing of  all  the  avenues  of  personal  expression. 
When  he  fails  in  the  class,  the  kind  of  social  les- 
son which  is  valuable  may  be  taught  him  by  sub- 
mitting the  same  question  to  a  pupil  of  the  plod- 
ding, deliberate  kind,  and  waiting  for  the  latter 
to  work  it  out.  Of  course,  if  the  teacher  have 
any  supervision  over  the  playground,  similar  treat- 
ment can  be  employed  there. 

Coming  to  consider  the  so-called  "sensory" 
youth  of  the  age  between  eight,  let  us  say,  and 
sixteen — the  age  during  which  the  training  of  the 
secondary  school  presents  its  great  problems — we 
find  certain  interesting  contrasts  between  this 
type  and  that  already  characterized  as  "  motor." 
The  study  of  this  type  of  youth  is  the  more  press- 
ing for  reasons  which  I  have  already  hinted  in 
considering  the  same  type  in  the  earlier  childhood 
period.  It  is  necessary,  first,  to  endeavour  to  get 
a  fairly  adequate  view  of  the  psychological  char- 
acteristics of  this  sort  of  pupil. 

The  current  psychological  doctrine  of  mental 
"  types  "  rests  upon  a  great  mass  of  facts,  drawn 
in  the  first  instance  from  the  different  kinds  of 
mental  trouble,  especially  those  which  involve 
derangements  of  speech — the  different  kinds  of 
Aphasia.  The  broadest  generalization  which  is 
reached  from  these  facts  is  that  which  marks  the 
distinction,  of  which  I  have  already  said  so  much, 
between  the  motor  and  the  sensory  types.  But 


THE  TRAINING  OF  THE  MIND.  191 

besides  this  general  distinction  there  are  many 
finer  ones;  and  in  considering  the  persons  of  the 
sensory  type,  it  is  necessary  to  inquire  into  these 
finer  distinctions.  Not  only  do  men  and  children 
differ  in  the  matter  of  the  sort  of  mental  material 
which  they  find  requisite,  as  to  whether  it  is  pic- 
tures of  movements  on  the  one  hand,  or  pictures 
from  the  special  senses  on  the  other  hand ;  but 
they  differ  also  in  the  latter  case  with  respect  to 
which  of  the  special  senses  it  is,  in  this  case  or 
that,  which  gives  the  particular  individual  his 
necessary  cue,  and  his  most  perfect  function.  So 
we  find  inside  of  the  general  group  called  "  sen- 
sory "  several  relatively  distinct  cases,  all  of  which 
the  teacher  is  likely  to  come  across  in  varying  num- 
bers in  a  class  of  pupils.  Of  these  the  "visual " 
and  the  "  auditory  "  are  most  important. 

There  are  certain  aspects  of  the  case  which 
are  so  common  to 'all  the  cases  of  sensory  minds, 
whether  they  be  visual,  auditory,  or  other,  that  I 
may  set  them  out  before  proceeding  further. 

First,  in  all  these  matters  of  type  distinction, 
one  of  the  essential  things  to  observe  is  the  be- 
haviour of  the  Attention.  We  have  already  seen 
that  the  attention  is  implicated  to  a  remarkable 
degree — in  what  I  called  "  fluid  attention  "  above 
— in  the  motor  scholar.  The  same  implication  of 
the  attention  occurs  in  all  the  sensory  cases,  but 
presents  very  different  aspects;  and  the  common 
fact  that  the  attention  is  directly  involved  affords 
us  one  of  the  best  rules  of  judgment  and  distinc- 
tion. We  may  say,  generally,  of  the  sensory 
children,  that  the  attention  is  best,  most  facile, 
most  interest-carrying  for  some  one  preferred 
sense,  leading  for  this  sense  into  preoccupation 
and  ready  distraction.  This  tendency  manifests 


192  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

itself,  as  we  saw  above,  in  the  motor  persons  also, 
taking  effect  in  action,  speed,  vivacity,  hasty  gen- 
eralization, etc. ;  but  in  the  sensory  one  it  takes 
on  varying  forms.  This  first  aspect  of  our  typical 
distinction  of  minds  we  may  call  "  the  relation  of 
the  '  favoured  function  '  to  the  attention." 

Then,  second,  there  is  another  and  somewhat 
contrasted  relation  which  also  assumes  importance 
when  we  come  to  consider  individual  cases;  and 
that  is  the  relation  of  the  "  favoured  function  " 
— say  movement,  vision,  hearing,  etc. — to  Habit. 
It  is  a  common  enough  observation,  that  habit 
renders  functions  easy,  and  that  habits  are  hard 
to  break ;  indeed,  all  treatment  of  habits  is  likely 
to  degenerate  into  the  commonplace.  But,  when 
looked  at  as  related  to  the  attention,  certain 
truths  emerge  from  the  consideration  of  habit. 

In  general,  we  may  say  that  habit  bears  a  two- 
fold relation  to  attention  :  on  the  one  hand,  facile 
attention  shows  the  reign  of  habit.  The  solid  acqui- 
sitions are  those  with  which  attention  is  at  home, 
and  which  are  therefore  more  or  less  habitual. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  equally  true  that  at- 
tention is  in  inverse  ratio  to  habit.  We  need  to  at- 
tend least  to  these  functions  which  are  most 
habitual,  and  we  have  to  attend  most  to  those 
which  are  novel  and  only  half  acquired.  We  get 
new  acquisitions  mainly,  indeed,  by  strained  at- 
tention. So  we  have  a  contrast  of  possible  in- 
terpretations in  all  cases  of  sharp  and  exclusive 
attention  by  the  children  :  does  the  attention  repre- 
sent a  Habit  in  this  particular  action  of  the  child? — 
or,  does  it  represent  the  breaking  up  of  a  habit,  an  act 
of  Accommodation  ?  In  each  case  these  questions 
have  to  be  intelligently  considered.  The  motor 
person,  usually,  when  uninstructed  and  not  held 


THE   TRAINING  OF  THE   MIND.  193 

back,  uses  his  attention  under  the  lead  of  habit. 
It  is  largely  the  teacher's  business  in  his  case,  as 
we  saw,  to  get  him  to  hold,  conserve,  and  direct 
his  attention  steadily  to  the  novel  and  the  com- 
plex. The  sensory  person,  on  the  other  hand, 
shows  the  attention  obstructed  by  details,  hin- 
dered by  novelties,  unable  to  pass  smoothly  over 
its  acquisitions,  and  in  general  lacking  the  regu- 
lar influence  of  habit  in  leading  him  to  summarize 
and  utilize  his  mental  store  in  general  ways. 

The  third  general  aspect  of  the  topic  is  this: 
the  person  of  the  sensory  type  is  more  likely  to  be 
the  one  in  whom  positive  derangement  occurs  in 
the  higher  levels,  and  in  response  to  the  more  re- 
fined social  and  personal  influences.  This,  for 
the  reason  that  this  type  represents  brain  pro- 
cesses of  greater  inertia  and  complexity,  with 
greater  liability  to  obstruction.  They  are  slower, 
and  proceed  over  larger  brain  areas. 

With  these  general  remarks,  then,  on  the  wider 
aspects  of  the  distinction  of  types,  we  may  now 
turn  to  one  of  the  particular  cases  which  occurs 
among  sensory  individuals.  This  is  all  that  our 
space  will  allow. 

The  Visual  Type. — The  so-called  "  visuals,"  or 
"eye-minded  "  people  among  us,  are  numerically 
the  largest  class  of  the  sensory  population.  They 
resort  to  visual  imagery  whenever  possible,  either 
because  that  is  the  prevailing  tendency  with  them, 
or  because,  in  the  particular  function  in  question 
in  any  special  act,  the  visual  material  comes  most 
readily  to  mind.  The  details  of  fact  regarding 
the  "visuals"  are  very  interesting;  but  I  shall 
not  take  space  to  dwell  upon  them.  The  sphere 
in  which  the  facts  regarding  the  pupil  of  this  type 
are  important  to  the  teacher  is  that  of  language, 


1^4  THE  STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

taken  with  the  group  of  problems  which  arise 
about  instruction  in  language.  The  question  of 
his  symbolism,  and  its  relation  to  mathematics, 
logic,  etc.,  is  important.  And  finally,  the  sphere 
of  the  pupil's  expression  in  all  its  forms.  Then, 
from  all  his  discoveries  in  these  things,  the  teacher 
is  called  upon  to  make  his  method  of  teaching 
and  his  general  treatment  suitable  to  this  student. 
The  visual  pupil  usually  shows  himself  to  be 
so  predominately  in  his  speech  and  language 
functions;  he  learns  best  and  fastest  from  copies 
which  he  sees.  He  delights  in  illustrations  put 
in  terms  of  vision,  as  when  actually  drawn  out  on 
the  blackboard  for  him  to  see.  He  understands 
what  he  reads  better  than  what  he  hears;  and  he 
uses  his  visual  symbols  as  a  sort  of  common  coin 
into  which  to  convert  the  images  which  come  to 
him  through  his  other  senses.  In  regard  to  the 
movements  of  attention,  we  may  say  that  this  boy 
or  girl  illustrates  both  the  aspects  of  the  attention- 
function  which  I  pointed  out  above  ;  he  attends 
best — that  is,  most  effectively — to  visual  instruc- 
tion provided  he  exert  himself;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  is  just  here  that  the  drift  of  habit  tends 
to  make  him  superficial.  As  attention  to  the  vis- 
ual is  the  most  easy  for  him,  and  as  the  details  of 
his  visual  stock  are  most  familiar,  so  he  tends  to 
pass  too  quickly  over  the  new  matters  which  are 
presented  to  him,  assimilating  the  details  to  the 
old  schemes  of  his  habit.  It  is  most  important 
to  observe  this  distinction,  since  it  is  analogous 
to  the  "  fluid  attention  "  of  the  motor  scholar  ; 
and  some  of  the  very  important  questions  regard- 
ing correlation  of  studies,  the  training  of  atten- 
tion, and  the  stimulation  of  interest  depend  upon 
its  recognition.  Acquisition  best  just  where  it  is 


THE  TRAINING   OF  THE   MIND.  195 

most  likely  to  go  wrong  ;  that  is  the  state  of  things. 
The  voluntary  use  of  the  visual  function'  gives 
the  best  results;  but  the  habitual,  involuntary, 
slipshod  use  of  it  gives  bad  results,  and  tends  to 
the  formation  of  injurious  habits. 

For  example,  I  set  a  strongly  visual  boy  a 
"copy  "  to  draw.  Seeing  this  visual  copy  he  will 
quickly  recognise  it,  take  it  to  be  very  easy,  dash 
it  off  quickly,  all  under  the  lead  of  habit;  but  his 
result  is  poor,  because  his  habit  has  taken  the  place 
of  effort.  Once  get  him  to  make  effort  upon  it, 
however,  and  his  will  be  the  best  result  of  all  the 
scholars,  perhaps,  just  because  the  task  calls  him 
out  in  the  line  of  his  favoured  function.  The 
same  antithesis  comes  out  in  connection  with 
other  varieties  of  sensory  scholars. 

We  may  say,  therefore,  in  regard  to  two  of 
the  general  aspects  of  mental  types — the  relation 
of  the  favoured  function  to  attention,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  to  habit,  on  the  other — that  they  both 
find  emphatic  illustration  in  the  pupil  of  the  vis- 
ual type.  -He  is,  more  than  any  other  sensory 
pupil,  a  special  case.  His  mental  processes  set  de- 
cidedly toward  vision.  He  is  the  more  important, 
also,  because  he  is  so  common.  Statistics  are  lack- 
ing, but  possibly  half  of  the  entire  human  family 
in  civilized  life  are  visual  in  their  type  for  most  of 
the  language  functions.  This  is  due,  no  doubt,  to 
the  emphasis  that  civilization  puts  upon  sight  as 
the  means  of  social  acquisition  generally,  and  to 
our  predominantly  visual  methods  of  instruction. 

The  third  fact  mentioned  is  also  illustrated  by 
this  type  ;  the  fact  that  mental  instruction  and 
derangement  may  come  easily,  through  the  stress 
laid  upon  vision  in  the  person's  mental  economy. 
I  need  not  enlarge  upon  the  different  forms  of 


196  THE  STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

special  defect  which  come  through  impairment  of 
sight  by  central  lesion  or  degeneration  of  the 
visual  centers  and  connections.  Suffice  it  to  say 
that  they  are  very  common,  and  very  difficult  of 
recovery.  The  visual  person  is  often  so  com- 
pletely a  slave  to  his  sight  that  when  that  fails 
either  in  itself  or  through  weakness  of  attention 
he  becomes  a  wreck  off  the  shore  of  the  ocean  of 
intellect.  When  we  consider  the  large  proportion 
just  mentioned  of  pupils  of  this  type,  the  care 
which  should  be  exercised  by  the  school  authori- 
ties in  the  matter  -of  favourable  conditions  of 
light,  avoidance  of  visual  fatigue,  proper  distance- 
adjustments  in  all  visual  application  as  regards 
focus,  symmetry,  size  of  objects,  copies,  prints, 
etc.,  becomes  at  once  sufficiently  evident  to  the 
thoughtful  teacher,  as  it  should  be  still  earlier  to 
the  parent.  There  should  be  a  medical  examina- 
tion, by  a  competent  oculist,  before  the  child 
goes  to  school,  and  regular  tests  afterward. 
School  examiners  and  boards  should  have  quali- 
fications for  reporting  on  the  hygienic  conditions 
of  the  school  as  regards  lighting.  The  bright 
glare  of  a  neighbouring  wall  before  a  window 
toward  which  children  with  weak  eyes  face  when 
at  their  desks  may  result  not  only  in  common 
defects  of  vision  but  also  in  resulting  mental  and 
moral  damage ;  and  the  results  are  worse  to  those 
who  depend  mainly  on  vision  for  the  food,  drink, 
and  exercise,  so  to  speak,  of  their  growing  minds. 
As  to  the  methods  of  teaching  these  and  also 
the  other  sensory  pupils,  the  indications  already 
given  must  suffice.  The  statement  of  some  of 
these  far-reaching  problems  of  educational  psy- 
chology, and  of  the  directions  in  which  their 
answers  are  to  be  sought,  exhausts  the  purpose  of 


THE   TRAINING   OF  THE   MIND.  197 

this  chapter.  In  general  it  may  be  said  that  the 
recommendations  made  for  the  treatment  of  sen- 
sory children  at  the  earlier  stage  may  be  extended 
to  later  periods  also,  and  that  the  treatment 
should  be,  for  the  most  part,  in  intelligent  con- 
trast to  that  which  the  motor  pupils  receive. 

Language  Study. — From  this  general  considera- 
tion of  the  child's  training  it  becomes  evident  that 
the  great  subjects  which  are  most  useful  for  disci- 
pline in  the  period  of  secondary  education  are  the 
mathematical  studies  on  the  one  hand,  which  exer- 
cise the  faculty  of  abstraction,  and  the  positive 
sciences,  which  train  the  power  of  observation  and 
require  truth  to  detail.  If  we  should  pursue  the 
subject  into  the  collegiate  period,  we  should  find 
mental  and  moral  science,  literature,  and  history 
coming  to  their  rights.  If  this  be  in  the  main 
psychological,  we  see  that  language  study,  as 
such,  should  have  no  great  place  in  secondary 
education.  The  study  of  grammar,  as  has  been 
already  said,  is  very  useful  in  the  early  periods 
of  development  if  taught  vocally ;  it  brings  the 
child  out  in  self-expression,  and  carries  its  own 
correctives,  from  the  fact  that  its  results  are  al- 
ways open  to  social  control.  These  are,  in  my 
mind,  the  main  functions  of  the  study  of  language. 

What,  then,  is  the  justification  for  devoting  ten 
or  twelve  years  of  the  youth's  time  to  study  of  a 
dead  language,  as  is  commonly  done  in  the  case 
of  Latin  ?  The  utility  of  expression  does  not  enter 
into  it,  and  the  discipline  of  truth  to  elegant  liter- 
ary copy  can  be  even  so  well  attained  from  the 
study  of  our  own  tongue,  which  is  lamentably 
neglected.  In  all  this  dreary  language  study,  the 
youth's  interest  is  dried  up  at  its  source.  He  is 
fed  on  formulas  and  rules ;  he  has  no  outlet  for 


198  THE   STORY   OF   THE    MIND. 

invention  or  discovery;  lists  of  exceptions  to 
the  rules  destroy  the  remnant  of  his  curiosity 
and  incentive;  even  reasoning  from  analogy  is 
strictly  forbidden  him;  he  is  shut  up  from  Nature 
as  in  a  room  with  no  windows;  the  dictionary  is 
his  authority  as  absolute  and  final  as  it  is  flat  and 
sterile.  His  very  industry,  being  forced  rather 
than  spontaneous,  makes  him  mentally,  no  less 
than  physically,  stoop-shouldered  and  near-sight- 
ed. It  seems  to  be  one  of  those  mistakes  of  the 
past  still  so  well  lodged  in  tradition  and  class 
rivalry  that  soundness  of  culture  is  artificially 
identified  with  its  maintenance.  Yet  there  is  no 
reason  that  the  spirit  of  classical  culture  and  the 
durable  elements  of  Greek  and  Roman  life  should 
not  be  as  well  acquired — nay,  better — from  the 
study  of  history,  archaeology,  and  literature.  For 
this  language  work  is  not  study  of  literature. 
Not  one  in  one  hundred  of  the  students  who  are 
forced  through  the  periodical  examinations  in  these 
languages  ever  gets  any  insight  into  their  aesthet- 
ic quality  or  any  inspiration  from  their  form. 

But  more  than  this.  At  least  one  positively 
vicious  effect  follows  from  language  study  with 
grammar  and  lexicon,  no  matter  what  the  language 
be.  The  habit  of  intellectual  guessing  grows  with 
the  need  of  continuous  effort  in  putting  together 
elements  which  go  together  for  no  particular  rea- 
son. When  a  thing  can  not  be  reasoned  out,  it 
may  just  as  well  be  guessed  out.  The  guess  is 
always  easier  than  the  dictionary,  and,  if  suc- 
cessful, it  answers  just  as  well.  Moreover,  the 
teacher  has  no  way  of  distinguishing  the  pupil's 
replies  which  are  due  to  the  guess  from  those  due 
to  honest  work.  I  venture  to  say,  from  personal 
experience,  that  no  one  who  has  been  through  the 


THE   TRAINING   OF   THE   MIND.  199 

usual  classical  course  in  college  and  before  it  has 
not  more  than  once  staked  his  all  upon  the  happy 
guess  at  the  stubborn  author's  meaning.  This 
shallow  device  becomes  a  substitute  for  honest 
struggle.  And  it  is  more  than  shallow ;  to  guess 
is  dishonest.  It  is  a  servant  to  unworthy  inertia; 
and  worse,  it  is  a  cloak  to  mental  unreadiness  and 
to  conscious  moral  cowardice.  The  guess  is  a 
bluff  to  fortune  when  the  honest  gauntlet  of  ig- 
norance should  be  thrown  down  to  the  issue. 

The  effects  of  this  show  themselves  in  a  habit 
of  mind  tolerated  in  persons  of  a  literary  bent, 
which  is  a  marked  contrast  to  that  demanded  and 
exemplified  by  science.  I  think  that  much  of  our 
literary  impressionism  and  sentimentalism  reveal 
the  guessing  habit. 

Yet  why  guess  ?  Why  be  content  with  an  im- 
pression ?  Why  hint  of  a  "  certain  this  and  a 
certain  that"  when  the  "certain,"  if  it  mean 
anything,  commonly  means  the-  uncertain? 
Things  worth  writing  about  should  be  formulated 
clearly  enough  to  be  understood.  Why  let  the 
personal  reaction  of  the  individual's  feeling  suf- 
fice ?  Our  youth  need  to  be  told  that  the  guess 
is  immoral,  that  hypothesis  is  the  servant  of  re- 
search, that  the  private  impression  instructs  no- 
body, that  presentiment  is  usually  wrong,  that 
science  is  the  best  antidote  to  the  fear  of  ghosts, 
and  that  the  reply  "  I  guess  so  "  betrays  itself, 
whether  it  arise  from  bravado,  from  cowardice, 
or  from  literary  finesse !  I  think  that  the  great 
need  of  our  life  is  honesty,  that  the  bulwark  of 
honesty  in  education  is  exact  knowledge  with  the 
scientific  habit  of  mind,  and,  furthermore,  that 
the  greatest  hindrance  to  these  things  is  the  train- 
ing which  does  not,  with  all  the  sanctions  at  its 


200  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

command,  distinguish  the  real,  with  its  infallible 
tests,  from  the  shadowy  and  vague,  but  which 
contents  itself  with  the  throw  of  the  intellectual 
dice  box.  Any  study  which  tends  to  make  the 
difference  between  truth  and  error  pass  with  the 
throwing  of  a  die,  and  which  leads  the  student  to 
be  content  with  a  result  he  can  not  verify,  has 
somewhat  the  function  in  his  education  of  the 
puzzle  in  our  society  amusements  or  the  game  of 
sliced  animals  in  the  nursery. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE      INDIVIDUAL      MIND      AND      SOCIETY SOCIAL 

PSYCHOLOGY. 

THE  series  of  questions  which  arise  when  we 
consider  the  individual  as  a  member  of  society 
fall  together  under  the  general  theory  of  what 
has  been  called,  in  a  figure,  Social  Heredity. 

The  treatment  of  this  topic  will  show  some- 
thing of  the  normal  relation  of  the  individual's 
mind  to  the  social  environment ;  and  the  chapter 
following  will  give  some  hints  as  to  the  nature 
and  position  of  that  exceptional  man  in  whom  we 
are  commonly  so  much  interested — the  Genius. 

The  theory  of  social  heredity  has  been  worked 
up  through  the  contributions,  from  different  points 
of  view,  of  several  authors.  What,  then,  is  social 
heredity  ? 

This  is  a  very  easy  question  to  answer,  since 
the  group  of  facts  which  the  phrase  describes  are 
extremely  familiar — so  much  so  that  the  reader 
may  despair,  from  such  a  commonplace  beginning, 


THE   INDIVIDUAL   MIND   AND   SOCIETY.        20 1 

of  getting  any  novelty  from  it.  The  social  heri- 
tage is,  of  course,  all  that  a  man  or  woman  gets 
from  the  accumulated  wisdom  of  society.  All 
that  the  ages  have  handed  down — the  literature, 
the  art,  the  habits  of  social  conformity,  the  experi- 
ence of  social  ills,  the  treatment  of  crime,  the  re- 
lief of  distress,  the  education  of  the  young,  the 
provision  for  the  old — all,  in  fact,  however  de- 
scribed, that  we  men  owe  to  the  ancestors  whom 
we  reverence,  and  to  the  parents  whose  presence 
with  us  perhaps  we  cherish  still.  Their  struggles, 
the  orator'has  told  us,  have  bought  our  freedom ; 
we  enter  into  the  heritage  of  their  thought  and 
wisdom  and  heroism.  All  true;  we  do.  We  all 
breathe  a  social  atmosphere ;  and  our  growth  is 
by  this  breathing-in  of  the  tradition  and  example 
of  the  past. 

Now,  if  this  be  the  social  heritage,  we  may  go 
on  to  ask :  Who  are  to  inherit  it  ?  To  this  we 
may  again  add  the  further  question :  How  does 
the  one  who  is  born  to  such  a  heritage  as  this 
come  into  his  inheritance?  And  with  this  yet 
again  :  How  may  he  use  his  inheritance — to  what 
end  and  under  what  limitations  ?  These  questions 
come  so  readily  into  the  mind  that  we  naturally 
wish  the  discussion  to  cover  them. 

Generally,  then,  who  is  eligible  for  the  social 
inheritance  ?  This  heir  to  society  we  are,  all  of 
us.  Society  does  not  make  a  will,  it  is  true;  nor 
does  society  die  intestate.  To  say  that  it  is  we 
who  inherit  the  riches  of  the  social  past  of  the 
race,  is  to  say  that  we  are  the  children  of  the  past 
in  a  sense  which  comes  upon  us  with  all  the  force 
that  bears  in  upon  the  natural  heir  when  he  finds 
his  name  in  will  or  law.  But  there  are  exceptions. 
And  before  we  seek  the  marks  of  the  legitimacy 


202  THE   STORY   OF   THE  MIND. 

of  our  claim  to  be  the  heirs  of  the  hundreds  of 
years  of  accumulated  thought  and  action,  it  may 
be  well  to  advise  ourselves  as  to  the  poor  creatures 
who  do  not  enter  into  the  inheritance  with  us. 
They  are  those  who  people  our  asylums,  our  re- 
formatories, our  jails  and  penitentiaries;  those 
who  prey  upon  the  body  of  our  social  life  by  de- 
mands for  charitable  support,  or  for  the  more 
radical  treatment  by  isolation  in  institutions ;  in- 
deed, some  who  are  born  to  fail  in  this  inheritance 
are  with  us  no  more,  even  though  they  were  of 
our  generation  ;  they  have  paid  the  penalty  which 
their  effort  to  wrest  the  inheritance  from  us  has 
cost,  and  the  grave  of  the  murderer,  the  burglar, 
the  suicide,  the  red-handed  rebel  against  the  law 
of  social  inheritance,  is  now  their  resting  place. 
Society  then  is,  when  taken  in  the  widest  sense, 
made  up  of  two  classes  of  people — the  heirs  who 
possess  and  the  delinquents  by  birth  or  conduct 
who  have  forfeited  the  inheritance. 

We  may  get  a  clear  idea  of  the  way  a  man  at- 
tains his  social  heritage  by  dropping  figure  for  the 
present  and  speaking  in  the  terms  of  plain  natural 
science.  Ever  since  Darwin  propounded  the  law 
of  Natural  Selection  the  word  Variation  has  been 
current  in  the  sense  explained  on  an  earlier  page. 

The  student  in  natural  science  has  come  to 
look  for  variations  as  the  necessary  preliminary 
to  any  new  step  of  progress  and  adaptation  in 
the  sphere  of  organic  life.  Nature,  we  now  know, 
is  fruitful  to  an  extraordinary  degree.  She  pro- 
duces many  specimens  of  everything.  It  is  a 
general  fact  of  reproduction  that  the  offspring  of 
plant  or  animal  is  quite  out  of  proportion  in  num- 
bers to  the  parents  that  produce  them,  and  often 
also  to  the  means  of  living  which  await  them. 


THE   INDIVIDUAL   MIND   AND   SOCIETY.        203 

One  plant  produces  seeds  which  are  carried  far 
and  near — to  the  ocean  and  to  the  desert  rocks, 
no  less  than  to  the  soil  in  which  they  may  take 
root  and  grow.  Insects  multiply  at  a  rate  which 
is  simply  inconceivable  to  our  limited  capacity  for 
thinking  in  figures.  Animals  also  produce  more 
abundantly,  and  man  has  children  in  numbers 
which  allow  him  to  bury  half  his  offspring  yearly 
and  yet  increase  the  adult  population  from  year  to 
year.  This  means,  of  course,  that  whatever  the 
inheritance  is,  all  do  not  inherit  it ;  some  must  go 
without  a  portion  whenever  the  resources  of  na- 
ture, or  the  family,  are  in  any  degree  limited  and 
when  competition  is  sharp. 

Now  Nature  solves  the  problem  among  the 
animals  in  the  simplest  of  ways.  All  the  young 
born  in  the  same  family  are  not  exactly  alike; 
"  variations  "  occur.  There  are  those  that  are 
better  nourished,  those  that  have  larger  muscles, 
those  that  breathe  deeper  and  run  faster.  So  the 
question  who  of  these  shall  inherit  the  earth,  the 
fields,  the  air,  the  water — this  is  left  to  itself.  The 
best  of  all  the  variations  live,  and  the  others  die. 
Those  that  do  live  have  thus,  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  been  "  selected "  for  the  inheritance, 
just  as  really  as  if  the  parents  of  the  species  had 
left  a  will  and  had  been  able  to  enforce  it.  This 
is  the  principle  of  "  Natural  Selection." 

Now,  this  way  of  looking  at  problems  which 
involve  aggregates  of  individuals  and  their  distri- 
bution is  becoming  a  habit  of  the  age.  Wherever 
the  application  of  the  principles  of  probability  do 
not  explain  a  statistical  result — that  is,  wherever 
there  seem  to  be  influences  which  favour  particular 
individuals  at  the  expense  of  others — men  turn  at 
once  to  the  occurrence  of  Variations  for  the  justifi- 


204  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

cation  of  this  seeming  partiality  of  Nature.  And 
what  it  means  is  that  Nature  is  partial  to  individ- 
uals in  making  them,  in  their  natural  heredity,  rather 
than  after  they  are  born. 

The  principle  of  heredity  with  variations  is  a 
safe  assumption  to  make  also  in  regard  to  man- 
kind ;  and  we  see  at  once  that  in  order  to  come  in 
for  a  part  in  the  social  heritage  of  our  fathers  we 
must  be  born  fit  for  it.  We  must  be  born  so  en- 
dowed for  the  race  of  social  life  that  we  assimi- 
late, from  our  birth  up,  the  spirit  of  the  society 
into  which  we  are  reared.  The  unfittest,  socially, 
are  suppressed.  In  this  there  is  a  distinction  be- 
tween this  sphere  of  survival  and  that  of  the  ani- 
mal world.  In  it  the  fittest  survive,  the  others 
are  lost;  but  in  society  the  unfittest  are  lost,  all 
the  others  survive.  Social  selection  weeds  out  the 
unfit,  the  murderer,  the  most  unsocial  man,  and  says 
to  him:  "You  must  die";  natural  selection  seeks 
out  the  most  fit  and  says :  "You  alone  are  to  live." 
The  difference  is  important,  for  it  marks  a  prime 
series  of  distinctions,  when  the  conceptions  drawn 
from  biology  are  applied  to  social  phenomena ; 
but  for  the  understanding  of  variations  we  need 
not  now  pursue  it  further.  The  contrast  may  be 
put,  however,  in  a  sentence :  in  organic  evolution 
we  have  the  natural  selection  of  the  fit ;  in  social 
progress  we  have  the  social  suppression  of  the  unfit. 

Given  social  variations,  therefore,  differences 
among  men,  what  becomes  of  this  man  or  that  ? 
We  see  at  once  that  if  society  is  to  live  there  must 
be  limits  set  somewhere  to  the  degree  of  variation 
which  a  given  man  may  show  from  the  standards 
of  society.  And  we  may  find  out  something  of 
these  limits  by  looking  at  the  evident,  and  marked 
differences  which  actually  appear  about  us. 


THE  INDIVIDUAL  MIND  AND  SOCIETY.        205 

First,  there  is  theydiot/  He  is  not  available, 
from  a  social  point  of  view,  because  he  varies  too 
much  on  the  side  of  defect.  He  shows  from  in- 
fancy that  he  is  unable  to  enter  into  the  social 
heritage  because  he  is  unable  to  learn  to  do  social 
things.  His  intelligence  does  not  grow  with  his 
body.  Society  pities  him  if  he  be  without  natural 
protection,  and  puts  him  away  in  an  institution, 
So  of  the  insane,  the  pronounced  lunatic;  he 
varies  too  much  to  sustain  in  any  way  the  wide 
system  of  social  relationships  which  society  re- 
quires of  each  individual.  Either  he  is  unable  to 
take  care  of  himself,  or  he  attempts  the  life  of 
some  one  else,  or  he  is  the  harmless,  unsocial 
thing  that  wanders  among  us  like  an  animal  or 
stands  in  his  place  like  a  plant.  He  is  not  a 
factor  in  social  life ;  he  has  not  come  into  the  in- 
heritance. 

Then  there  is  the  extraordinary  class  of  peo- 
ple whom  we  may  describe  by  a  stronger  term 
than  those  already  emplo^fed.  We  find  not  only 
the  unsocial,  the  negatively  unfit,  those  whom 
society  puts  away  with  pity  in  its  heart ;  there 
are  also  the  antisocial,  the  class  whom  we  usually 
designate  as  criminals.  These  persons,  like  the 
others,  are  variations;  but  they  seem  to  be  varia- 
tions in  quite  another  way.  They  do  not  repre- 
sent lack  on  the  intellectual  side  always  or  alone, 
but  on  the  moral  side,  on  the  social  side,  as  such. 
The  least  we  can  say  of  the  criminals  is  that  they 
tend,  by  heredity  or  by  evil  example,  to  violate 
the  rules  which  society  has  seen  fit  to  lay  down 
for  the  general  security  of  men  living  together  in 
the  enjoyment  of  the  social  heritage.  So  far, 
then,  they  are  factors  of  disintegration,  of  de- 
struction ;  enemies  of  the  social  progress  which 
15 


206  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

proceeds  from  generation  to  generation  by  just 
this  process  of  social  inheritance.  So  society 
says  to  the  criminal  also  :  "  You  must  per- 
ish." We  kill  off  the  worst,  imprison  the  bad 
for  life,  attempt  to  reform  the  rest.  They,  too, 
then,  are  excluded  from  the  heritage  of  the 
past. 

So  our  lines  of  eligibility  get  more  and  more 
narrowly  drawn.  The  instances  of  exclusion  now 
cited  serve  to  give  us  some  insight  into  the  real 
qualities  of  the  man  who  lives  a  social  part,  and 
the  way  he  comes  to  live  it. 

Passing  on  to  take  up  the  second  of  the  in- 
formal topics  suggested,  we  have  to  find  the  best 
description  that  we  can  of  the  social  man — the  one 
who  is  fitted  for  the  social  life.  This  question 
concerns  the  process  by  which  any  one  of  us 
comes  into  the  wealth  of  relationships  which  the 
social  life  represents.  For  to  say  that  a  man  does 
this  is  in  itself  to  say  that  he  is  the  man  society  is 
looking  for.  Indeed,  this  is  the  only  way  to  describe 
the  man — to  actually  find  him.  Society  is  essen- 
tially a  growing,  shifting  thing.  It  changes  from 
age  to  age,  from  country  to  country.  The  Greeks 
had  their  social  conditions,  and  the  Romans 
theirs.  Even  the  criminal  lines  are  drawn  dif- 
ferently, somewhat,  here  and  there;  and  in  a  low 
stage  of  civilization  a  man  may  pass  for  normal 
who,  in  our  time,  would  be  described  as  weak  in 
mind.  This  makes  it  necessary  that  the  standards 
of  judgment  of  a  given  society  should  be  deter- 
mined by  an  actual  examination  of  the  society, 
and  forbids  us  to  say  that  the  limits  of  varia- 
tion which  society  in  general  will  tolerate  must 
be  this  or  that. 

We  may  say,  then,  that  the  man  who  is  fit  for 


THE   INDIVIDUAL  MlND   AND   SOCIETY.        207 

social  life  must  be  born  to  learn.  The  need  of  learn- 
ing is  his  essential  need.  It  comes  upon  him  from 
his  birth.  Speech  is  the  first  great  social  function 
which  he  must  learn,  and  with  it  all  the  varieties 
of  verbal  accomplishment — reading  and  writing. 
This  brings  to  the  front  the  great  method  of  all 
his  learning — imitation.  In  order  to  be  social  he 
must  be  imitative,  imitative,  imitative.  He  must 
realize  for  himself  by  action  the  forms,  conven- 
tions, requirements,  co-operations  of  his  social 
group.  All  is  learning;  and  learning  not  by 
himself  and  at  random,  but  under  the  leading  of 
the  social  conditions  which  surround  him.  Plas- 
ticity is  his  safety  and  the  means  of  his  progress. 
So  he  grows  into  the  social  organization,  takes 
his  place  as  a  Socius  in  the  work  of  the  world,  and 
lays  deep  the  sense  of  values,  upon  the  basis  of 
which  his  own  contributions — if  he  be  destined  to 
make  contributions — to  the  wealth  of  the  world 
are  to  be  wrought  out.  This  great  fact  that  he  is 
open  to  the  play  of  the  personal  influences  which 
are  about  him  is  just  the  "  suggestibleness  "  which 
we  have  already  described  in  an  earlier  chapter; 
and  the  influences  themselves  are  "  suggestions  " 
— social  suggestions.  These  influences  differ  in 
different  communities,  as  we  so  often  remark. 
The  Turk  learns  to  live  in  a  very  different  system 
of  relations  of  "  give  and  take  "from  ours,  and 
ours  differ  as  much  from  those  of  the  Chinese. 
All  that  is  characteristic  of  the  race  or  tribe  or 
group  or  family — all  this  sinks  into  the  child  and 
youth  by  his  simple  presence  there  in  it,  with  the 
capacity  to  learn  by  imitation.  He  is  suggest- 
ible, and  here  are  the  suggestions;  he  is  made 
to  inherit  and  he  inherits.  So  it  makes  no  differ- 
ence what  his  tribe  or  kindred  be;  let  him  be  a 


208  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

learner  by  imitation,  and  he  becomes  in  turn  pos- 
sessor and  teacher. 

The  case  becomes  more  interesting  still  when 
we  give  the  matter  another  turn,  and  say  that  in 
this  learning  all  the  members  of  society  agree; 
all  must  be  born  to  learn  the  same  things.  They 
enter,  if  so  be  that  they  do,  into  the  same  social 
inheritance.  This  again  seems  like  a  very  com- 
monplace remark ;  but  certain  things  flow  from 
it.  Each  member  of  society  gives  and  gets  the 
same  set  of  social  suggestions ;  the  differences 
being  the  degree  of  progress  each  has  made,  and 
the  degree  of  variation  which  each  one  gives  to 
what  he  has  before  received.  This  last  difference 
is  treated  below  where  we  consider  the  genius. 

There  grows  up,  in  all  this  give  and  take,  in 
all  the  interchange  of  suggestions  among  you, 
me,  and  the  other,  an  obscure  sense  of  a  certain 
social  understanding  about  ourselves  generally — 
a  Zeitgeist,  an  atmosphere,  a  taste,  or,  in  minor 
matters,  a  style.  It  is  a  very  peculiar  thing,  this 
social  spirit.  The  best  way  to  understand  that 
you  have  it,  and  something  of  what  it  is,  is  to  get 
into  a  circle  in  which  it  is  different.  The  com- 
mon phrase  "  fish  out  of  water  "  is  often  heard  in 
reference  to  it.  But  that  does  not  serve  for  sci- 
ence. The  next  best  thing  that  I  can  do  in  the 
way  of  rendering  it  is  to  appeal  to  another  word 
which  has  a  popular  sense,  the  word  Judgment. 
Let  us  say  that  there  exists  in  every  society  a 
general  system  of  values,  found  in  social  usages, 
conventions,  institutions,  and  formulas,  and  that 
our  judgments  of  social  life  are  founded  on  our 
habitual  recognition  of  these  values,  and  of  the 
arrangement  of  them  which  has  become  more  or 
less  fixed  in  our  society.  For  example,  to  be  cor- 


THE  INDIVIDUAL  MIND  AND  SOCIETY.        209 

dial  to  a  disagreeable  neighbour  shows  good  so- 
cial judgment  in  a  small  matter;  not  to  quarrel 
with  the  homoeopathic  enthusiast  who  meets  you 
in  the  street  and  wishes  to  doctor  your  rheuma- 
tism out  of  a  symptom  book — that  is  good  judg- 
ment. In  short,  the  man  gets  to  show  more  and 
more,  as  he  grows  up  from  childhood,  a  certain 
good  judgment;  and  his  good  judgment  is  also 
the  good  judgment  of  his  social  set,  community, 
or  nation.  The  psychologist  might  prefer  to  say 
that  a  man  "  feels  "  this ;  perhaps  it  would  be 
better  for  psychological  readers  to  say  simply 
that  he  has  a  "  sense  "  of  it;  but  the  popular  use 
of  the  word  "judgment"  fits  so  accurately  into 
the  line  of  distinction  we  are  now  making  that  we 
may  adhere  to  it.  So  we  reach  the  general 
position  that  the  eligible  candidate  for  social  life 
must  have  good  judgment  as  represented  by  the 
common  standards  of  judgment  of  his  people. 

It  may  be  doubted,  however,  by  some  of  my 
readers  whether  this  sense  of  social  values  called 
judgment  is  the  outcome  of  suggestions  operating 
throughout  the  term  of  one's  social  education. 
This  is  an  essential  point,  and  I  must  just  assume 
it.  It  follows  from  what  we  said  in  an  earlier 
chapter  to  be  the  way  of  the  child's  learning  by 
imitation.  It  will  appear  true,  I  trust,  to  any  one 
who  may  take  the  pains  to  observe  the  child's  terv 
tative  endeavours  to  act  up  to  social  usages  in  the 
family  and  school.  One  may  then  actually  see 
the  growth  of  the  sort  of  judgment  which  I  am 
describing.  Psychologists  are  coming  to  see  that 
even  the  child's  sense  of  his  own  personal  self 
is  a  gradual  attainment,  achieved  step  by  step 
through  his  imitative  responses  to  his  personal 
environment.  His  thought  of  himself  is  an  in- 


210  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

terpretation  of  his  thought  of  others,  and  his 
thought  of  another  is  due  to  further  accommo- 
dation of  his  active  processes  to  changes  in  his 
thought  of  a  possible  self.  Around  this  funda- 
mental movement  in  his  personal  growth  all  the 
values  of  his  life  have  their  play.  So  I  say  that 
his  sense  of  truth  in  the  social  relationships  of 
his  environment  is  the  outcome  of  his  very  gradu- 
al learning  of  his  personal  place  in  these  relation- 
ships. 

We  reach  the  conclusion,  therefore,  from  this 
part  of  our  study,  that  the  socially  unfit  person  is 
the  person  of  poor  judgment.  He  may  have 
learned  a  great  deal ;  he  may  in  the  main  repro- 
duce the  activities  required  by  his  social  tradi- 
tion ;  but  with  it  all  he  is  to  a  degree  out  of  joint 
with  the  general  system  of  estimated  values  by 
which  society  is  held  together.  This  may  be 
shown  to  be  true  even  of  the  pronounced  types 
of  unsocial  individuals  of  whom  we  had  occasion 
to  speak  at  the  outset.  The  criminal  is,  socially 
considered,  a  man  of  poor  judgment.  He  may  be 
more  than  this,  it  is  true.  He  may  have  a  bad 
strain  of  heredity,  what  the  theologians  call 
"  original  sin  " ;  he  then  is  an  "  habitual  criminal  " 
in  the  current  distinction  of  criminal  types  ;  and 
his  own  sense  of  his  failure  to  accept  the  teach- 
ings of  society  may  be  quite  absent,  since  crime 
is  so  normal  to  him.  But  the  fact  remains  that 
in  his  judgment  he  is  mistaken  ;  his  normal  is  not 
society's  normal.  He  has  failed  to  be  educated 
in  the  judgments  of  his  fellows,  however  besides 
and  however  more  deeply  he  may  have  failed 
Or,  again,  the  criminal  may  commit  crime  simpi} 
because  he  is  carried  away  in  an  eddy  of  good 
companionship,  which  represents  a  temporary 


THE   GENIUS   AND   HIS   ENVIRONMENT.        211 

current  of  social  life;  or  his  nervous  energies 
may  be  overtaxed  temporarily  or  drained  of  their 
strength,  so  that  his  education  in  social  judg- 
ment is  forgotten  :  he  is  then  the  "  occasional  " 
criminal.  It  is  true  of  the  man  of  this  type  also 
that  while  he  remains  a  criminal  he  has  lost  his 
balance,  has  yielded  to  temptation,  has  gratified 
'private  impulse  at  the  expense  of  social  sanity  ; 
all  this  shows  the  lack  of  that  sustaining  force 
of  moral  consciousness  which  represents  the  level 
of  social  Tightness  in  his  time  and  place.  Then, 
as  to  the  idiot,  the  imbecile,  the  insane,  they,  too, 
have  no  good  judgment,  for  the  very  adequate 
but  pitiful  reason  that  they  have  no  judgment 
at  all. 

This,  then,  is  the  doctrine  of  Social  Heredity; 
it  illustrates  the  side  of  conformity,  of  personal 
acquiescence  on  the  part  of  the  individual  in  the 
rules  of  social  life.  Another  equally  important 
side,  that  of  the  personal  initiative  and  influence 
of  the  individual  mind  in  society,  remains  to  be 
spoken  of  in  the  next  chapter.  Social  Heredity 
emphasizes  Imitation ;  the  Genius,  to  whom  we 
now  turn,  illustrates  Invention. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    GENIUS    AND    HIS   ENVIRONMENT. 

THE  facts  concerning  the  genius  seem  to  indi- 
cate that  he  is  a  being  somewhat  exceptional  and 
apart.  Common  mortals  stand  about  him  with 
expressions  of  awe.  The  literature  of  him  is 
embodied  in  the  alcoves  of  our  libraries  most 


212  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

accessible  to  the  public,  and  even  the  wayfaring 
man,  to  whom  life  is  a  weary  round,  and  his  con- 
quests over  nature  and  his  fellows  only  the  di- 
vision of  honours  on  a  field  that  usually  witnesses 
drawn  battles  or  bloody  defeats,  loves  to  stimulate 
his  courage  by  hearing  of  the  lives  of  those  who  put 
nature  and  society  so  utterly  to  rout.  He  hears 
of  men  who  swayed  the  destinies  of  Europe,  who 
taught  society  by  outraging  her  conventions, 
whose  morality  even  was  reached  sometimes  by 
scorn  of  the  peccadilloes  which  condemn  the  or- 
dinary man.  Every  man  has  in  him  in  some  de- 
gree the  hero  worshipper,  and  gets  inflamed  some- 
what by  reading  Carlyle's  Frederick  the  Great. 

Of  course,  this  popular  sense  can  not  be 
wholly  wrong.  The  genius  does  accomplish  the 
world  movements.  Napoleon  did  set  the  destiny 
of  Europe,  and  Frederick  did  reveal,  in  a  sense, 
a  new  phase  of  moral  conduct.  The  truth  of 
these  things  is  just  what  makes  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  common  man  so  healthy  and  stimulating.  It 
is  not  the  least  that  the  genius  accomplishes  that 
he  thus  elevates  the  traditions  of  man  and  in- 
spires the  literature  that  the  people  read.  He 
sows  the  seeds  of  effort  in  the  fertile  soil  of  the 
newborn  of  his  own  kind,  while  he  leads  those 
who  do  not  have  the  same  gifts  to  rear  and  tend 
the  growing  plant  in  their  own  social  gardens. 
This  is  true;  and  a  philosophy  of  society  should 
not  overlook  either  of  the  facts — the  actual  deeds 
of  the  great  man  with  his  peculiar  influence  upon 
his  own  time,  and  his  lasting  place  in  the  more 
inspiring  social  tradition  which  is  embodied  in 
literature  and  art. 

Yet  the  psychologist  has  to  present  just  the 
opposite  aspect  of  these  apparent  exceptions  to 


THE  GENIUS  AND   HIS  ENVIRONMENT.        213 

the  canons  of  our  ordinary  social  life.  He  has 
to  oppose  the  extreme  claim  made  by  the  writers 
who  attempt  to  lift  the  genius  quite  out  of  the 
normal  social  movement.  For  it  only  needs  a 
moment's  consideration  to  see  that  if  the  genius 
has  no  reasonable  place  in  the  movement  of  so- 
cial progress  in  the  world,  then  there  can  be  no 
possible  doctrine  or  philosophy  of  such  progress. 
To  the  hero  worshipper  his  hero  comes  in  simply 
to  "knock  out,"  so  to  speak,  all  the  regular  move- 
ment of  the  society  which  is  so  fortunate,  or  so 
unfortunate,  as  to  have  given  him  birth ;  and  by 
his  initiative  the  aspirations,  beliefs,  struggles  of 
the  community  or  state  get  a  push  in  a  new  di- 
rection— a  tangent  to  the  former  movement  or  a 
reversal  of  it.  If  this  be  true,  and  it  be  further 
true  that  no  genius  who  is  likely  to  appear  can 
be  discounted  by  any  human  device  before  his 
abrupt  appearance  upon  the  stage  of  action,  then 
the  history  of  facts  must  take  the  place  of  the 
science  or  philosophy  of  them,  and  the  chroni- 
cler become  the  only  historian  with  a  right  to  be. 
For  of  what  value  can  we  hold  the  contribu- 
tion which  the  genius  makes  to  thought  if  this 
contribution  runs  so  across  the  acquisitions  of 
the  earlier  time  and  the  contributions  of  earlier 
genius  that  no  line  of  common  truth  can  be  dis- 
covered between  him  and  them  ?  Then  each  so- 
ciety would  have  its  own  explanation  of  itself, 
and  that  only  so  long  as  it  produced  no  new 
genius.  It  may  be,  of  course,  that  society  is  so 
constituted — or,  rather,  so  lacking  in  constitution 
— that  simple  variations  in  brain  physiology  are 
the  sufficient  reason  for  its  cataclysms ;  but  a  great 
many  efforts  will  be  made  to  prove  the  contrary 
before  this  highest  of  all  spheres  of  human  ac- 


214  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

tivity  is  declared  to  have  no  meaning — no  thread 
which  runs  from  age  to  age  and  links  mankind, 
the  genius  and  the  man  who  plods,  in  a  common 
and  significant  development. 

In  undertaking  this  task  we  must  try  to  judge 
the  genius  with  reference  to  the  sane  social  man, 
the  normal  Socius.  What  he  is  we  have  seen.  He 
is  a  person  who  learns  to  judge-  by  the  judgments  of 
society.  What,  then,  shall  we  say  of  the  genius 
from  this  point  of  view  ?  Can  the  hero  worshipper 
be  right  in  saying  that  the  genius  teaches  society 
to  judge;  or  shall  we  say  that  the  genius,  like 
other  men,  must  learn  to  judge  by  the  judgments 
of  society  ? 

The  most  fruitful  point  of  view  is,  no  doubt, 
that  which  considers  the  genius  a  variation.  And 
unless  we  do  this  it  is  evidently  impossible  to  get 
any  theory  which  will  bring  him  into  a  general 
scheme.  But  how  great  a  variation  ?  And  in 
what  direction  ? — these  are  the  questions.  The 
great  variations  found  in  the  criminal  by  heredity, 
the  insane,  the  idiotic,  etc.,  we  have  found  ex- 
cluded from  society;  so  we  may  well  ask  why 
the  genius  is  not  excluded  also.  If  our  deter- 
mination of  the  limits  within  which  society  de- 
cides who  is  to  be  excluded  is  correct,  then  the 
genius  must  come  within  these  limits.  He  can  not 
escape  them  and  live  socially. 

The  Intelligence  of  the  Genius. — The  directions 
in  which  the  genius  actually  varies  from  the  aver- 
age man  are  evident  as  a  matter  of  fact.  He  is, 
first  of  all,  a  man  of  great  power  of  thought,  of 
great  "constructive  imagination,"  as  the  psvchol- 
ogists  say.  So  let  us  believe,  first,  that  a  genius 
is  a  man  who  has  occasionally  greater  thoughts 
than  other  men  have.  Is  this  a  reason  for  ex- 


THE   GENIUS   AND   HIS   ENVIRONMENT.        215 

eluding  him  from  society?  Certainly  not ;  for  by 
great  thoughts  we  mean  true  thoughts,  thoughts 
which  will  work,  thoughts  which  will  bring  in  a 
new  area  in  the  discovery  of  principles,  or  of  their 
application.  This  is  just  what  all  development 
depends  upon,  this  attainment  of  novelty,  which 
is  consistent  with  older  knowledge  and  supple- 
mentary to  it.  But  suppose  a  man  have  thoughts 
which  are  not  true,  which  do  not  fit  the  topic  of 
their  application,  which  contradict  established 
knowledges,  or  which  result  in  bizarre  and  fanci- 
ful combinations  of  them  ;  to  that  man  we  deny  the 
name  genius:  he  is  a  crank,  an  agitator,  an  anar- 
chist, or  what  not.  The  test,  then,  which  we  bring 
to  bear  upon  the  intellectual  variations  which  men 
show  is  that  of  truth,  practical  workability — in 
short,  to  sum  it  up,  "fitness."  Any  thought,  to 
live  and  germinate,  must  be  a  fit  thought.  And 
the  community's  sense  of  the  fitness  of  the 
thought  is  their  rule  of  judgment. 

Now,  the  way  the  community  got  this  sense — 
that  is  the  great  result  we  have  reached  above. 
Their  sense  of  fitness  is  just  what  I  called  above 
their  judgment.  So  far,  at  least,  as  it  relates  to 
matters  of' social  import,  it  is  of  social  origin.  It 
reflects  the  outcome  of  all  social  heredity,  tradi- 
tion, education.  The  sense  of  social  truth  is 
their  criterion  of  social  thoughts,  and  unless  the 
social  reformer's  thought  be  in  some  way  fit  to 
go  into  the  setting  thus  made  by  earlier  social 
development,  he  is  not  a  genius  but  a  crank. 

I  may  best  show  the  meaning  of  the  claim 
that  society  makes  upon  the  genius  by  asking  in 
how  far  in  actual  life  he  manages  to  escape  this 
account  of  himself  to  society.  The  facts  are  very 
plain,  and  this  is  the  class  of  facts  which  some 


2l6  THE  STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

writers  urge,  as  supplying  an  adequate  rule  for 
the  application  of  the  principles  of  their  social  phi- 
losophy. The  simple  fact  is,  say  they,  that  with- 
out the  consent  of  society  the  thoughts  of  your 
hero,  whether  he  be  genius  or  fool,  are  practically 
valueless.  The  fulness  of  time  must  come;  and 
the  genius  before  his  time,  if  judged  by  his  works, 
can  not  be  a  genius  at  all.  His  thought  may  be 
great,  so  great  that,  centuries  after,  society  may 
attain  to  it  as  its  richest  outcome  and  its  pro- 
foundest  intuition ;  but  before  that  time,  it  is  as 
bizarre  as  a  madman's  fancies  and  as  useless. 
What  would  be  thought,  we  might  be  asked  by 
writers  of  this  school,  of  a  rat  which  developed 
upon  its  side  the  hand  of  a  man,  with  all  its 
mechanism  of  bone,  muscle,  tactile  sensibility, 
and  power  of  delicate  manipulation,  if  the  re- 
mainder of  the  creature  were  true  to  the  pat- 
tern of  a  rat  ?  Would  not  the  rest  of  the  rat 
tribe  be  justified  in  leaving  this  anomaly  behind 
to  starve  in  the  hole  where  his  singular  appendage 
held  him  fast  ?  Is  such  a  rat  any  the  less  a  mon- 
ster because  man  finds  use  for  his  hands. 

To  a  certain  extent  this  argument  is  forcible 
and  true.  If  social  utility  be  our  rule  of  defini- 
tion, then  certainly  the  premature  genius  is  no 
genius.  And  this  rule  of  definition  may  be  put 
in  another  way  which  renders  it  still  more  plaus- 
ible. The  variations  which  occur  in  intellectual 
endowment,  in  a  community,  vary  about  a  mean ; 
there  is,  theoretically,  an  average  man.  The  dif- 
ferences among  men  which  can  be  taken  account 
of  in  any  philosophy  of  life  must  be  in  some 
way  referable  to  this  mean.  The  variation  which 
does  not  find  its  niche  at  all  in  the  social  envi- 
ronment, but  which  strikes  all  the  social  fellows 


THE  GENIUS  AND   HIS   ENVIRONMENT.        217 

with  disapproval,  getting  no  sympathy  whatever, 
is  thereby  exposed  to  the  charge  of  being  the 
"  sport  "  of  Nature  and  the  fruit  of  chance.  The 
lack  of  hearing  which  awaits  such  a  man  sets  him 
in  a  form  of  isolation,  and  stamps  him  not  only  as 
a  social  crank,  but  also  as  a  cosmic  tramp. 

Put  in  its  positive  and  usual  form,  this  view 
simply  claims  that  man  is  always  the  outcome  of 
the  social  movement.  The  reception  he  gets  is  a 
measure  of  the  degree  in  which  he  adequately 
represents  this  movement.  Certain  variations 
are  possible — men  who  are  forward  in  the  legiti- 
mate progress  of  society — and  these  men  are  the 
true  and  only  geniuses.  Other  variations,  which 
seem  to  discount  the  future  too  much,  are 
"  sports  "  ;  for  the  only  permanent  discounting  of 
the  future  is  that  which  is  projected  from  the  ele- 
vation of  the  past. 

The  great  defect  of  this  view  is  found  in  its 
definitions.  We  exclaim  at  once  :  who  made  the 
past  the  measure  of  the  future  ?  and  who  made 
social  approval  the  measure  of  truth  ?  What  is 
there  to  eclipse  the  vision  of  the  poet,  the  invent- 
or, the  seer,  that  he  should  not  see  over  the  heads 
of  his  generation,  and  raise  his  voice  for  that 
which,  to  all  men  else,  lies  behind  the  veil  ?  The 
social  philosophy  of  this  school  can  not  answer 
these  questions,  I  think  ;  nor  can  it  meet  the  ap- 
peal we  all  make  to  history  when  we  cite  the 
names  of  Aristotle,  Pascal,  and  Newton,  or  of  any 
of  the  men  who  single-handed  and  alone  have  set 
guide-posts  to  history,  and  given  to  the  world 
large  portions  of  its  heritage  of  truth.  What  can 
set  limit  to  the  possible  variations  of  fruitful  in- 
tellectual power  ?  Rare  such  variations — that  is 
their  law :  the  greater  the  variation,  the  more 


2l8  THE   STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

rare !  But  so  is  genius  :  the  greater,  the  more 
rare.  As  to  the  rat  with  the  human  hand,  he 
would  not  be  left  to  starve  and  decay  in  his  hole ; 
he  would  be  put  in  alcohol  when  he  died,  and 
kept  in  a  museum  !  And  the  lesson  which  he 
would  teach  to  the  wise  biologist  would  be  that 
here  in  this  rat  Nature  had  shown  Jier  genius 
by  discounting  in  advance  the  slow  processes  of 
evolution ! 

It  is,  indeed,  the  force  of  such  considerations 
as  these  which  have  led  to  many  justifications  of 
the  positions  that  the  genius  is  quite  out  of  con- 
nection with  the  social  movement  of  his  time. 
The  genius  brings  his  variations  to  society 
whether  society  will  or  no;  and  as  to  harmony 
between  them,  that  is  a  matter  of  outcome  rather 
than  of  expectation  or  theory.  We  are  told  the 
genius  comes  as  a  brain-variation ;  and  between 
the  physical  heredity  which  produces  him  and  the 
social  heredity  which  sets  the  tradition  of  his  time 
there  is  no  connection. 

But  this  is  not  tenable,  as  we  have  reason  to 
think,  from  the  interaction  which  actually  takes 
place  between  physical  and  social  heredity.  To 
be  sure,  the  heredity  of  the  individual  is  a  physio- 
logical matter,  in  the  sense  that  the  son  must  in- 
herit from  his  parents  and  their  ancestors  alone. 
But  granted  that  two  certain  parents  are  his  par- 
ents, we  may  ask  how  these  two  certain  parents 
came  to  be  his  parents.  How  did  his  father  come 
to  marry  his  mother,  and  the  reverse  ?  This  is 
distinctly  a  social  question  ;  and  to  its  solution 
all  the  currents  of  social  influence  and  suggestion 
contribute.  Who  is  free  from  social  considera- 
tions in  selecting  his  wife  ?  Does  the  coachman 
have  an  equal  chance  to  get  the  heiress,  or  the 


THE   GENIUS   AND   HIS   ENVIRONMENT.        219 

blacksmith  the  clergyman's  daughter  ?  Do  we 
find  inroads  made  in  Newport  society  by  the 
ranchman  and  the  dry-goods  clerk  ?  And  are  not 
the  inroads  which  we  do  find,  the  inroads  made 
by  the  counts  and  the  marquises,  due  to  influences 
which  are  quite  social  and  psychological  ?  Again, 
on  the  other  hand,  what  leads  the  count  and  the 
marquis  to  lay  their  titles  at  Newport  doors, 
while  the  ranchman  and  the  dry-goods  clerk 
keep  away,  but  the  ability  of  both  these  types  of 
suitors  to  estimate  their  chances  just  on  social 
and  psychological  grounds  ?  Novelists  have  rung 
the  changes  on  this  intrusion  of  social  influences 
into  the  course  of  physical  heredity.  Bourget's 
Cosmopolis  is  a  picture  of  the  influence  of  social 
race  characteristics  on  natural  heredity,  with  the 
reaction  of  natural  heredity  again  upon  the  new 
social  conditions. 

A  speech  of  a  character  of  Balzac's  is  to  the 
point,  as  illustrating  a  certain  appreciation  of 
these  social  considerations  which  we  all  to  a  de- 
gree entertain.  The  Duchesse  de  Carigliano  says 
to  Madame  de  Sommervieux  :  "  I  know  the  world 
too  well,  my  dear,  to  abandon  myself  to  the  dis- 
cretion of  a  too  superior  man.  You  should  know 
that  one  may  allow  them  to  court  one,  but  marry 
them — that  is  a  mistake  !  Never — no,  no.  It  is 
like  wanting  to  find  pleasure  in  inspecting  the 
machinery  of  the  opera  instead  of  sitting  in  a  box 
to  enjoy  its  brilliant  illusions."  To  be  sure,  we 
do  not  generally  deliberate  in  this  wise  when  we 
fall  in  love  ;  but  that  is  not  necessary,  since  our 
social  environment  sets  the  style  by  the  kind  of 
intangible  deliberation  which  I  have  called  judg- 
ment and  fitness.  Suppose  a  large  number  of 
Northern  advocates  of  social  equality  should  mi- 


220  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

grate  to  the  Southern  United  States,  and,  true  to 
their  theory,  intermarry  with  the  blacks.  Would 
it  not  then  be  true  that  a  social  theory  had  run 
athwart  the  course  of  physiological  descent,  lead- 
ing to  the  production  of  a  legitimate  mulatto  so- 
ciety ?  A  new  race  might  spring  from  such  a 
purely  psychological  or  social  initiation. 

While  not  agreeing,  therefore,  with  the  theory 
which  makes  the  genius  independent  of  the  social 
movement — least  of  all  with  the  doctrine  that 
physical  heredity  is  uninfluenced  by  social  condi- 
tions— the  hero  worshipper  is  right,  nevertheless, 
in  saying  that  we  can  not  set  the  limitations  of  the 
genius  on  the  side  of  variations  toward  high  in- 
tellectual endowment.  So  if  the  general  position 
be  true  that  he  is  a  variation  of  some  kind,  we 
must  look  elsewhere  for  the  direction  of  those 
peculiar  traits  whose  excess  would  be  his  condem- 
nation. This  we  can  find  only  in  connection  with 
the  other  demand  that  we  make  of  the  ordinary 
man — the  demand  that  he  be  a  man  of  good  judg- 
ment. And  to  this  we  may  now  turn. 

The  Judgment  of  the  Genius. — We  should  bear 
in  mind  in  approaching  this  topic  the  result  which 
follows  from  the  reciprocal  character  of  social 
relationships.  No  genius  ever  escapes  the  require- 
ments laid  down  for  his  learning,  his  social  hered- 
ity. Mentally  he  is  a  social  outcome,  as  well  as 
are  the  fellows  who  sit  in  judgment  on  him.  He 
must  judge  his  own  thoughts  therefore  as  they 
do.  And  his  own  proper  estimate  of  things  and 
thoughts,  his  relative  sense  of  fitness,  gets  applica- 
tion, by  a  direct  law  of  his  own  mental  processes, 
to  himself  and  to  his  own  creations.  The  limita- 
tions which,  in  the  judgment  of  society,  his  vari- 
ations must  not  overstep,  are  set  by  his  own  judg- 


THE  GENIUS  AND  HIS  ENVIRONMENT.        221 

ment  also.  If  the  man  in  question  have  thoughts 
which  are  socially  true,  he  must  himself  know  that 
they  are  true.  So  we  reach  a  conclusion  regarding 
the  selection  of  the  particular  thoughts  which  the 
genius  may  have  :  he  and  society  must  agree  in  re- 
gard to  the  fitness  of  them,  although  in  particular 
cases  this  agreement  ceases  to  be  the  emphatic 
thing.  The  essential  thing  comes  to  be  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  social  standard  in  the  thinker's  own 
judgment ;  the  thoughts  thought  must  always  be  crit- 
ically judged  by  the  thinker  himself  ;  and  for  the  most 
part  his  judgment  is  at  once  also  the  social  judgment. 
This  may  be  illustrated  further. 

Suppose  we  take  the  man  of  striking  thoughts 
and  withal  no  sense  of  fitness — none  of  the  judg- 
ment about  them  which  society  has.  He  will  go 
through  a  mighty  host  of  discoveries  every  hour. 
The  very  eccentricity  of  his  imaginations  will  only 
appeal  to  him  for  the  greater  admiration.  He 
will  bring  his  most  chimerical  schemes  out  and  air 
them  with  the  same  assurance  with  which  the  real 
inventor  exhibits  his.  But  such  a  man  is  not  pro- 
nounced a  genius.  If  his  ravings  about  this  and 
that  are  harmless,  we  smile  and  let  him  talk ;  but 
if  his  lack  of  judgment  extend  to  things  of  grave 
import,  or  be  accompanied  by  equal  illusions  re- 
garding himself  and  society  in  other  relationships, 
then  we  classify  his  case  and  put  him  into  the 
proper  ward  for  the  insane.  Two  of  the  com- 
monest forms  of  such  impairment  of  judgment 
are  seen  in  the  victims  of  "fixed  ideas  "on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  exaltes  on  the  other.  These 
men  have  no  true  sense  of  values,  no  way  of  se- 
lecting the  fit  combinations  of  imagination  from 
the  unfit;  and  even  though  some  transcendently 
true  and  original  thought  were  to  flit  through  the 
16 


222  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

diseased  mind  of  such  a  one,  it  would  go  as  it 
came,  and  the  world  would  wait  for  a  man  with  a 
sense  of  fitness  to  arise  and  rediscover  it.  The 
other  class,  the  exaltis,  are  somewhat  the  reverse; 
the  illusion  of  personal  greatness  is  so  strong  that 
their  thoughts  seem  to  them  infallible  and  their 
persons  divine. 

Men  of  such  perversions  of  judgment  are  com- 
mon among  us.  We  all  know  the  man  who  seems 
to  be  full  of  rich  and  varied  thought,  who  holds 
us  sometimes  by  the  power  of  his  conceptions  or 
the  beauty  of  his  creations,  but  in  whose  thought 
we  yet  find  some  incongruity,  some  eminently  unfit 
element,  some  grotesque  application,  some  eleva- 
tion or  depression  from  the  level  of  commonplace 
truth,  some  ugly  strain  in  the  aesthetic  impression. 
The  man  himself  does  not  know  it,  and  that  is 
the  reason  he  includes  it.  His  sense  of  fitness  is 
dwarfed  or  paralyzed.  We  in  the  community 
come  to  regret  that  he  is  so  "visionary,"  with  all 
his  talent ;  so  we  accommodate  ourselves  to  his 
unfruitfulness,  and  at  the  best  only  expect  an  oc- 
casional hour's  entertainment  under  the  spell  of 
his  presence.  This  certainly  is  not  the  man  to 
produce  a  world  movement. 

Most  of  the  men  we  call  "cranks"  are  of  this 
type.  They  are  essentially  lacking  in  judgment, 
and  the  popular  estimate  of  them  is  exactly  right. 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  from  this  last  explana- 
tion, that  there  is  a  second  direction  of  variation 
among  men  :  variation  in  their  sense  of  the  truth  and 
value  of  their  own  thoughts,  and  with  them  of  the 
thoughts  of  others.  This  is  the  great  limitation 
which  the  man  of  genius  shares  with  men  gener- 
ally— a  limitation  in  the  amount  of  variation  which 
he  may  show  in  his  social  judgments,  especially 


THE   GENIUS  AND   HIS   ENVIRONMENT.        223 

as  these  variations  affect  the  claim  which  he  makes 
upon  society  for  recognition.  It  is  evident  that 
this  must  be  an  important  factor  in  our  estimate 
of  the  claims  of  the  hero  to  our  worship,  especially 
since  it  is  the  more  obscure  side  of  his  tempera- 
ment, and  the  side  generally  overlooked  alto- 
gether. This  let  us  call,  in  our  further  illustra- 
tions, the  "social  sanity"  of  the  man  of  genius. 

The  first  indication  of  the  kind  of  social 
variation  which  oversteps  even  the  degree  of 
indulgence  society  is  willing  to  accord  to  the 
great  thinker  is  to  be  found  in  the  effect  which 
education  has  upon  character.  The  discipline  of 
social  development  is,  as  we  have  seen,  mainly 
conducive  to  the  reduction  of  eccentricities,  the 
levelling  off  of  personal  peculiarities.  All  who 
come  into  the  social  heritage  learn  the  same  great 
series  of  lessons  derived  from  the  past,  and  all 
get  the  sort  of  judgment  required  in  social  life 
from  the  common  exercises  of  the  home  and  school 
in  the  formative  years  of  their  education.  So  we 
should  expect  that  the  greater  singularities  of  dis- 
position which  represent  insuperable  difficulty  in 
the  process  of  social  assimilation  would  show 
themselves  early.  Here  it  is  that  the  actual  con- 
flict comes — the  struggle  between  impulse  and  so- 
cial restraint.  Many  a  genius  owes  the  redemp- 
tion of  his  intellectual  gifts  to  legitimate  social 
uses  to  the  victory  gained  by  a  teacher  and  the 
discipline  learned  through  obedience.  And  thus 
it  is  also  that  many  who  give  promise  of  great 
distinction  in  early  life  fail  to  achieve  it.  They 
run  off  after  a  phantom,  and  society  pronounces 
them  mad.  In  their  case  the  personal  factor  has 
overcome  the  social  factor;  they  have  failed  in 
the  lessons  they  should  have  learned,  their  own 


224  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

self-criticism  is  undisciplined,  and  they  miss  the 
mark. 

These  two  extremes  of  variation,  however,  do 
not  exhaust  the  case.  One  of  them  tends  in  a 
measure  to  the  blurring  of  the  light  of  genius, 
and  the  other  to  the  rejection  of  social  restraint 
to  a  degree  which  makes  the  potential  genius  over 
into  a  crank.  The  average  man  is  the  mean.  But 
the  greatest  reach  of  human  attainment,  and  with 
it  the  greatest  influence  ever  exercised  by  man,  is 
yet  more  than  either  of  these.  It  is  not  enough, 
the  hero  worshipper  may  still  say,  that  the  genius 
should  have  sane  and  healthy  judgment,  as  society 
reckons  sanity.  The  fact  still  remains  that  even  in 
his  social  judgments  he  may  instruct  society.  He 
may  stand  alone  and,  by  sheer  might,  left  his  fel- 
low-men up  to  his  point  of  vantage,  to  their  eternal 
gain  and  to  his  eternal  praise.  Even  let  it  be 
that  he  must  have  self-criticism,  the  sense  of  fit- 
ness you  speak  of,  that  very  sense  may  transcend 
the  vulgar  judgment  of  his  fellows.  His  judg- 
ment may  be  saner  than  theirs;  and  as  his  intel- 
lectual creations  are  great  and  unique,  so  may  his 
sense  of  their  truth  be  full  and  unique.  Wagner 
led  the  musical  world  by  his  single-minded  devo- 
tion to  the  ideas  of  Wagner;  and  Darwin  had  to 
be  true  to  his  sense  of  truth  and  to  the  formula- 
tions of  his  thought,  though  no  man  accorded 
him  the  right  to  instruct  his  generation  either  in 
the  one  or  in  the  other.  To  be  sure,  this  divine 
assurance  of  the  man  of  genius  may  be  counter- 
feited ;  the  vulgar  dreamer  often  has  it.  But, 
nevertheless,  when  a  genius  has  it,  he  is  not  a  vul- 
gar dreamer. 

This  is  true,  I  think,  and  the  explanation  of  it 
leads  us  to  the  last  fruitful  application  of  the  doc- 


THE  GENIUS  AND  HIS   ENVIRONMENT.        225 

trine  of  variations.  Just  as  the  intellectual  en- 
dowment of  men  may  vary  within  very  wide  limits, 
so  may  the  social  qualifications  of  men.  There 
are  men  who  find  it  their  meat  to  do  society  serv- 
ice. There  are  men  so  naturally  born  to  take  the 
lead  in  social  reform,  in  executive  matters,  in  or- 
ganization, in  planning  our  social  campaigns  for 
us,  that  we  turn  to  them  as  by  instinct.  They 
have  a  kind  of  insight  to  which  we  can  only  bow. 
They  gain  the  confidence  of  men,  win  the  support 
of  women,  and  excite  the  acclamations  of  children. 
These  people  are  the  social  geniuses.  They  seem 
to  anticipate  the  discipline  of  social  education. 
They  do  not  need  to  learn  the  lessons  of  the  so- 
cial environment. 

Now,  such  persons  undoubtedly  represent  a 
variation  toward  suggestibility  of  the  most  deli- 
cate and  singular  kind.  They  surpass  the  teach- 
ers from  whom  they  learn.  It  is  hard  to  say  that 
they  "  learn  to  judge  by  the  judgments  of  society." 
They  so  judge  without  seeming  to  learn,  yet  they 
differ  from  the  man  whose  eccentricities  forbid 
him  to  learn  through  the  discipline  of  society. 
The  two  are  opposite  extremes  of  variation  ;  that 
seems  to  me  the  only  possible  construction  of 
them.  It  is  the  difference  between  the  ice  boat 
which  travels  faster  than  the  wind  and  the  skater 
who  braves  the  wind  and  battles  up-current  in  it. 
The  latter  is  soon  beaten  by  the  opposition ;  the 
former  outruns  its  ally.  The  crank,  the  eccentric, 
the  enthusiast — all  these  run  counter  to  sane  social 
judgment;  but  the  genius  leads  society  to  his  own 
point  of  view,  and  interprets  the  social  movement 
so  accurately,  sympathetically,  and  with  such  pro- 
found insight  that  his  very  singularity  gives 
greater  relief  to  his  inspiration. 


226  THE   STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

Now  let  a  man  combine  with  this  insight — this 
extraordinary  sanity  of  social  judgment — the  power 
of  great  inventive  and  constructive  thought,  and 
then,  at  last,  we  have  our  genius,  our  hero,  and  one 
that  we  well  may  worship  !  To  great  thought  he 
adds  balance;  to  originality,  judgment.  This  is 
the  man  to  start  the  world  movements  if  we  want 
a  single  man  to  start  them.  For  as  he  thinks  pro- 
foundly, so  he  discriminates  his  thoughts  justly, 
and  assigns  them  values.  His  fellows  judge  with 
him,  or  learn  to  judge  after  him,  and  they  lend  to 
him  the  motive  forces  of  success — enthusiasm,  re- 
ward. He  may  wait  for  recognition,  he  may  suffer 
imprisonment,  he  may  be  muzzled  for  thinking  his 
thoughts,  he  may  die  and  with  him  the  truth  to 
which  he  gave  but  silent  birth.  But  the  world 
comes,  by  its  slower  progress,  to  traverse  the  path 
in  which  he  wished  to  lead  it ;  and  if  so  be  that 
his  thought  was  recorded,  posterity  revives  it  in 
regretful  sentences  on  his  tomb. 

The  two  things  to  be  emphasized,  therefore,  on 
the  rational  side  of  the  phenomenally  great  man — 
I  mean  on  the  side  of  our  means  of  accounting  for 
him  in  reasonable  terms — are  these  :  first,  his  intel- 
lectual originality;  and,  second,  the  sanity  of  his 
judgment.  And  it  is  the  variations  in  this  second 
sort  of  endowment  which  give  the  ground  which 
various  writers  have  for  the  one-sided  views  now 
current  in  popular  literature. 

We  are  told,  on  the  one  hand,  that  the  genius 
is  a  "  degenerate  "  ;  on  another  hand,  that  he  is  to 
be  classed  with  those  of  "  insane  "  temper;  and  yet 
again,  that  his  main  characteristic  is  his  readiness 
to  outrage  society  by  performing  criminal  acts. 
All  these  so-called  theories  rely  upon  facts — so  far 
as  they  have  any  facts  to  rest  upon — which,  if 


THE   GENIUS   AND    HIS   ENVIRONMENT.        227 

space  permitted,  we  might  readily  estimate  from 
our  present  point  of  view.  In  so  far  as  a  really 
great  man  busies  himself  mainly  with  things  that 
are  objective,  which  are  socially  and  morally  neu- 
tral— such  as  electricity,  natural  history,  mechani- 
cal theory,  with  the  applications  of  these — of 
course,  the  mental  capacity  which  he  possesses  is 
the  main  thing,  and  his  absorption  in  these  things 
may  lead  to  a  warped  sense  of  the  more  ideal  and 
refined  relationships  which  are  had  in  view  by  the 
writer  in  quest  for  degeneracy.  It  will  still  be 
admitted,  however,  by  those  who  are  conversant 
with  the  history  of  science,  that  the  greatest  scien- 
tific geniuses  have  been  men  of  profound  quietness 
of  life  and  normal  social  development.  It  is  to 
the  literary  and  artistic  genius  that  the  seeker 
after  abnormality  has  to  turn;  and  in  this  field, 
again,  the  facts  serve  to  show  their  own  meaning. 
As  a  general  rule,  these  artistic  prodigies  do 
not  represent  the  union  of  variations  which  we 
find  in  the  greatest  genius.  Such  men  are  often 
distinctly  lacking  in  power  of  sustained  construc- 
tive thought.  Their  insight  is  largely  what  is 
called  intuitive.  They  have  flashes  of  emotional 
experience  which  crystallize  into  single  creations 
of  art.  They  depend  upon  "  inspiration  " — a  word 
which  is  responsible  for  much  of  the  overrating  of 
such  men,  and  for  a  good  many  of  their  illusions. 
Not  that  they  do  not  perform  great  feats  in  the 
several  spheres  in  which  their  several  "inspira- 
tions "  come ;  but  with  it  all  they  often  present  the 
sort  of  unbalance  and  fragmentary  intellectual  en- 
dowment which  allies  them,  in  particular  instances, 
to  the  classes  of  persons  whom  the  theories  we  are 
noticing  have  in  view.  It  is  only  to  be  expected 
that  the  sharp  jutting  variation  in  the  emotional 


228  THE  STORY  OF  THE   MIND. 

and  aesthetic  realm  which  the  great  artist  often 
shows  should  carry  with  it  irregularities  in  heredity 
in  other  respects.  Moreover,  the  very  habit  of 
living  by  inspiration  brings  prominently  into  view 
any  half-hidden  peculiarities  which  he  may  have 
in  the  remark  of  his  associates,  and  in  the  conduct 
of  his  own  social  duties.  But  mark  you,  I  do  not 
discredit  the  superb  art  of  many  examples  of  the 
artistic  "degenerate,"  so-called;  that  would  be  to 
brand  some  of  the  highest  ministrations  of  genius, 
to  us  men,  as  random  and  illegitimate,  and  to  con- 
sider impure  some  of  our  most  exalting  and  intoxi- 
cating sources  of  inspiration.  But  I  do  still  say 
that  wherein  such  men  move  us  and  instruct  us 
they  are  in  these  spheres  above  all  things  sane  with 
our  own  sanity,  and  wherein  they  are  insane  they 
do  discredit  to  that  highest  of  all  offices  to  which 
their  better  gifts  make  legitimate  claim — the  in- 
struction of  mankind. 

Again  one  of  Balzac's  characters  hits  the  nail 
on  the  head.  "My  dear  mother,"  says  Augustine, 
in  the  Sign,  of  the  Cat  and  Racket,  "  you  judge 
superior  people  too  severely.  If  their  ideas  were 
the  same  as  other  folks  they  would  not  be  men  of 
genius." 

"Very  well,"  replies  Madame  Guillaume,  "then 
let  men  of  genius  stop  at  home  and  not  get 
married.  What !  A  man  of  genius  is  to  make  his 
wife  miserable  ?  And  because  he  is  a  genius  it  is 
all  right!  Genius!  genius!  It  is  not  so  very 
clever  to  say  black  one  minute  and  white  the  next, 
as  he  does,  to  interrupt  other  people,  to  dance 
such  rigs  at  home,  never  to  let  you  know  which 
foot  you  are  to  stand  on,  to  compel  his  wife  never 
to  be  amused  unless  my  lord  is  in  gay  spirits,  and 
to  be  dull  when  he  is  dull." 


THE  GENIUS  AND  HIS  ENVIRONMENT.        229 

"But  his  imaginations  .  .  ." 

"  What  are  such  imaginations  ? "  Madame 
Guillaume  went  on,  interrupting  her  daughter 
again.  "  Fine  ones  are  his,  my  word !  What 
possesses  a  man,  that  all  on  a  sudden,  without 
consulting  a  doctor,  he  takes  it  into  his  head  to 
eat  nothing  but  vegetables  ?  There,  get  along !  if 
he  were  not  so  grossly  immoral,  he  would  be  fit  to 
shut  up  in  a  lunatic  asylum." 

"O  mother,  can  you  believe?" 

"  Yes,  I  do  believe.  I  met  him  in  the  Champs 
Elys^es.  He  was  on  horseback.  Well,  at  one  min- 
ute he  was  galloping  as  hard  as  he  could  tear,  and 
then  pulled  up  to  a  walk.  I  said  to  myself  at  that 
moment,  '  There  is  a  man  devoid  of  judgment ! '  " 

The  main  consideration  which  this  chapter  aims 
to  present,  that  of  the  responsibility  of  all  men,  be 
they  great  or  be  they  small,  to  the  same  standards 
of  social  judgment,  and  to  the  same  philosophical 
treatment,  is  illustrated  in  the  very  man  to  whose 
genius  we  owe  the  principle  upon  which  my  re- 
marks are  based — Charles  Darwin ;  and  it  is  sin- 
gularly appropriate  that  we  should  also  find  the 
history  of  this  very  principle,  that  of  variations 
with  the  correlative  principle  of  natural  selection, 
furnishing  a  capital  illustration  of  our  inferences. 
Darwin  was,  with  the  single  exception  of  Aris- 
totle, possibly  the  man  with  the  sanest  judgment 
that  the  human  mind  has  ever  brought  to  the  in- 
vestigation of  nature.  He  represented,  in  an  ex- 
ceedingly adequate  way,  the  progress  of  scientific 
method  up  to  his  day.  He  was  disciplined  in  all 
the  natural  science  of  his  predecessors.  His  judg- 
ment was  an  epitome  of  the  scientific  insight  of 
the  ages  which  culminated  then.  The  time  was 


\ 

230  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

ripe  for  just  such  a  great  constructive  thought  as 
his — ripe,  that  is,  so  far  as  the  accumulation  of 
scientific  data  was  concerned.  His  judgment  dif- 
fered then  from  the  judgment  of  .his  scientific 
\  contemporaries  mainly  in  that  it  was  sounder  and 
j  safer  than  theirs.  And  with  it  Darwin  was  a  great 
constructive  thinker.  He  had  the  intellectual 
strength  which  put  the  judgment  of  his  time  to 
the  strain — everybody's  but  his  own.  This  is 
seen  in  the  fact  that  Darwin  was  not  the  first  to 
speculate  in  the  line  of  his  great  discovery,  nor  to 
reach  formulas  ;  but  with  the  others  guessing  took 
the  place  of  induction.  The  formula  was  an  un- 
criticised  thought.  The  unwillingness  of  society 
to  embrace  the  hypothesis  was  justified  by  the 
same  lack  of  evidence  which  prevented  the  think- 
ers themselves  from  giving  it  proof.  And  if  no 
Darwin  had  appeared,  the  problem  of  evolution 
would  have  been  left  about  where  it  had  been  left 
by  the  speculations  of  the  Greek  mind.  Darwin 
reached  his  conclusion  by  what  that  other  great 
scientific  genius  in  England,  Newton,  described 
as  the  essential  of  discovery,  "patient  thought"; 
and  having  reached  it,  he  had  no  alternative  but 
to  judge  it  true  and  pronounce  it  to  the  world. 

But  the  principle  of  variations  with  natural 
selection  had  the  reception  which  shows  that  good 
judgment  may  rise  higher  than  the  level  of  its 
own  social  origin.  Even  yet  the  principle  of  Dar- 
win is  but  a  spreading  ferment  in  many  spheres  of- 
human  thought  in  which  it  is  destined  to  bring 
the  same  revolution  that  it  has  worked  in  the 
sciences  of  organic  life.  And  it  was  not  until 
other  men,  who  had  both  authority  with  the 
public  and  sufficient  information  to  follow  Dar- 
win's thought,  seconded  his  judgment,  that  his 


THE   GENIUS   AND   HIS   ENVIRONMENT.        231 

formula  began  to  have  currency  in  scientific  cir- 
cles. 

Now  we  may  ask  :  Does  not  any  theory  of  man 
which  loses  sight  of  the  supreme  sanity  of  Dar- 
win, and  with  him  of  Aristotle,  and  Angelo,  and 
Leonardo,  and  Newton,  and  Leibnitz,  and  Shake- 
speare, seem  weak  and  paltry  ?  Do  not  delicacy 
of  sentiment,  brilliancy  of  wit,  fineness  of  rhyth- 
mical and  aesthetic  sense,  the  beautiful  contribu- 
tions of  the  talented  special  performer,  sink  into 
something  like  apologies — something  even  like 
profanation  of  that  name  to  conjure  by,  the  name 
of  genius  ?  And  all  the  more  if  the  profanation 
is  made  real  by  the  moral  irregularities  or  the 
social  shortcomings  which  give  some  colour  of 
justification  to  the  appellation  "  degenerate  "  ! 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  why  run  to  the  other 
extreme  and  make  this  most  supremely  human  of 
all  men  an  anomaly,  a  prodigy,  a  bolt  from  the 
blue,  an  element  of  extreme  disorder,  born  to 
further  or  to  distract  the  progress  of  humanity  by 
a  chance  which  no  man  can  estimate  ?  The  re- 
sources of  psychological  theory  are  adequate,  as 
I  have  endeavoured  to  show,  to  the  construction 
of  a  doctrine  of  society  which  is  based  upon  the 
individual,  in  all  the  possibilities  of  variation 
which  his  heredity  may  bring  forth,  and  which 
yet  does  not  hide  nor  veil  those  heights  of  human 
greatness  on  which  the  halo  of  genius  is  wont  to 
rest.  Let  us  add  knowledge  to  our  surprise  in 
the  presence  of  such  a  man,  and  respect  to  oui1 
knowledge,  and  worship,  if  you  please,  to  our  re- 
spect, and  with  it  all  we  then  begin  to  see  that 
because  of  him  the  world  is  the  better  place  for 
us  to  live  and  work  in. 

We  find  that,  after  all,  we  may  be  social  psy- 


232  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MIND. 

chologists  and  hero  worshippers  as  well.  And  by 
being  philosophers  we  have  made  our  worship 
more  an  act  of  tribute  to  human  nature.  The 
heathen  who  bows  in  apprehension  or  awe  before 
the  image  of  an  unknown  god  may  be  rendering 
all  the  worship  he  knows;  but  the  soul  that  finds 
its  divinity  by  knowledge  and  love  has  communion 
of  another  kind.  So  the  worship  which  many 
render  to  the  unexplained,  the  fantastic,  the  cata- 
clysmal — this  is  the  awe  that  is  born  of  ignorance. 
Given  a  philosophy  that  brings  the  great  into 
touch  with  the  commonplace,  that  delineates  the 
forces  which  arise  to  their  highest  grandeur  only 
in  a  man  here  and  there,  that  enables  us  to  con- 
trast the  best  in  us  with  the  poverty  of  him,  and 
then  we  may  do  intelligent  homage.  To  know 
that  the  greatest  men  of  earth  are  men  who  think 
as  I  do,  but  deeper,  and  see  the  real  as  I  do,  but 
clearer,  who  work  to  the  goal  that  I  do,  but 
faster,  and  serve  humanity  as  I  do,  but  better — 
that  may  be  an  incitement  to  my  humility,  but  it 
is  also  an  inspiration  to  my  life. 


LITERATURE.* 


GENERAL  PSYCHOLOGY — SYSTEMATIC  TREATISES. 

Bain,  The  Senses  and  the  Intellect  (New  York :  Apple- 
tons.  London :  Longmans). 

,  The  Emotions  and  the  Will  (the  same). 

James,    Principles   of  Psychology,   2   vols.  (New  York : 

Holt   &    Co.      London :     Macmillans.      Abridged   in 

Briefer  Course). 
Ladd,   Psychology,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory  (New 

York :  Scribners.     London  :  Longmans.     Abridged  in 

Elements  of  Descriptive  Psychology). 
Stout,    Analytic  Psychology,  2   vols.  (London :   Sonnen- 

schein.     New  York  :  Macmillans). 
Wundt,  Lectures  on  Human   and  Animal  Psychology 

(the  same). 

Hoffding,  Outlines  of  Psychology  (Macmillans). 
Sterrett,  The  Power  of  Thought  (New  York  :  Scribners). 
Baldwin,  Handbook  of  Psychology,  2  vols.  (New  York : 

Holt.     London  :  Macmillans.     Abridged  in  Elements 

of  Psychology). 

,    Articles   in  Appletons'    Universal  Cyclopedia 

(New  York:  Appletons). 

PSYCHOLOGY  OF  THE  CHILD. 

Preyer,  The  Mind  of  the  Child,  2  vols.  (New  York :  Ap- 
pletons). 

Compayre,  Intellectual  and  Moral  Development  of  the 
Child,  2  vols.  (New  York  :  Appletons). 

*  Only  books  in  English.     The  order  of  mention  is  with- 
out significance. 

233 


234  THE   STORY   OF   THE   MIND. 

Sully,    Studies    of    Childhood  (New   York :    Appletons. 

London :  Longmans). 
Baldwin,  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race 

(New  York  and  London:  Macmillans). 

PHYSIOLOGICAL  PSYCHOLOGY. 

Ziehen,  Introduction  to  Physiological  Psychology  (Lon- 
don:  Sonnenschein.  New  York  :  Macmillans). 

Ladd,  Elements  of  Physiological  Psychology  (New  York  : 
Scribners.  London :  Longmans.  Abridged  in  Out- 
lines). 

Donaldson,  The  Growth  of  the  Brain  (London :  Walter 
Scott.  New  York  :  Scribners). 

EXPERIMENTAL  PSYCHOLOGY. 

Kiilpe,   Outline  of  Psychology   (London :    Sonnenschein 

New  York :  Macmillans). 
Sanford,  Course   in  Experimental  Psychology  (Boston  : 

Heath  &  Co.). 
Scripture,  The  New  Psychology  (London :  Walter  Scott. 

New  York :  Scribners). 

ANIMAL  AND  EVOLUTION  PSYCHOLOGY. 

Romanes.  Mental  Evolution  in  Animals  and  Man,  2 

vols.  (New  York  :  Appletons). 

,  Animal  Intelligence  (New  York:  Appletons). 

— ,  Darwin  and  After   Darwin,  3  \  arts  (Chicago : 

Open  Court  Company.     London  :  Longmans). 
C.  Lloyd  Morgan.  Comparative  Psychology  (London  :  W. 

Scott.     New  York  :  Scribners). 
,  Animal  Life  and  Intelligence  (London  and  New 

York:  Arnold). 

-,  Habit  and  Instinct  (the  same). 


Groos,  The  Play  of  Animals  (New  York :  Appletons. 
London:  Chapman  &  Hall). 

Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  2  vols.  (New  York : 
Appletons). 

Hudson,  The  Naturalist  in  La  Plata  (London:  Chap- 
man &  Hall). 


LITERATURE.  235 

Darwin,  Descent  of  Man  (New  York:  Appletons). 
,  Origin  of  Species  (the  same). 

Wallace,  Darwinism  (New  York  and  London  :  Macmil- 
lans). 

Stanley,  The  Evolutionary  Psychology  of  Feeling  (Lon- 
don :  Sonnenschein.  New  York  :  Macrnillans). 

Baldwin,  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race 
(New  York  and  London:  Macrnillans). 

MENTAL  DEFECT  AND  DISEASE. 

Maudsley,  Pathology  of  Mind  (Macmillans). 

Starr,  Familiar  Forms  of  Nervous  Disease  (New  York  : 
Wood). 

Collins,  The  Faculty  of  Speech  (Macmillans). 

Hirsch,  Genius  and  Degeneration  (Appletons). 

Tuke,  Dictionary  of  Psychological  Medicine  (Philadel- 
phia :  Blakiston). 

HYPNOTISM  AND  ALLIED  TOPICS. 

Moll,  Hypnotism  (London  :  Scott.  New  York :  Scrib- 
ners). 

Binet,  Alterations  of  Personality  (New  York :  Apple- 
tons.  London :  Chapman  &  Hall). 

Parish,  Hallucinations  and  Illusions  (London :  Scott. 
New  York :  Scribners). 

SOCIAL  AND  ETHICAL  PSYCHOLOGY. 

Tarde,  The  Laws  of  Imitation  (New  York  :  Holt). 

Le  Bon,  The  Crowd  (London  :  Scott.  New  York:  Scrib- 
ners). 

Royce,  Studies  in  Good  and  Evil  (Appletons). 

Baldwin,  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations  in  Mental 
Development  (Macmillans). 

EDUCATIONAL  PSYCHOLOGY. 
Spencer,  On  Education  (Appletons). 
Guyau,  Education  and  Heredity  (Scribners). 
Herbart,  The  Application  of  Psychology  to  Education 
(Scribners). 


236  THE   STORY   OF  THE   MIND. 

Harris,  The  Psychologic  Foundations  of  Education  (Ap- 
pletons). 

PHILOSOPHY. 

Paulsen,  Introduc-tion  to  Philosophy  (Holt). 

Royce,    The    Spirit   of  Modern    Philosophy    (Boston : 

Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.). 

Ormond,  Basal  Concepts  in  Philosophy  (Scribners). 
James,  The  Will  to  Believe  (Longmans). 

PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PHILOSOPHY  (over  the  whole  field). 

Baldwin's  Dictionary  of  Philosophy  and  Psychology, 
with  full  bibliographies,  French,  German,  and  Italian 
equivalents,  etc.  (Macmillans). 

UNCLASSIFIED. 

Spencer,  Principles  of  Sociology  (Appletons). 
Giddings,  Principles  of  Sociology  (Macmillans). 
Mackensie,  Introduction  to  Social  Philosophy  (Macmil- 
lans). 

Marshall,  Pain,  Pleasure,  and  Aesthetics  (Macmillans). 
Gallon,  Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty  (Macmillans). 

,  Natural  Inheritance  (Macmillans). 

Pearson,  The  Chances  of  Death  (Arnold). 

JOURNALS. 

The  Psychological  Review  (Macmillans,  all  departments). 

The  American  Journal  of  Psychology  (Worcester  : 
Orpha,  experimental). 

Mind  (London  :  Williams  &  Norgate,  mainly  for  philos- 
ophy). 


INDEX. 


A. 

Abnormal  psychology,  4. 

Abqulia,  up. 

Action,   16,  22.     See  Conduct. 

Esthetic  feeling,  46,    133. 

Algebra,  study  of,  187,  188. 

Amnesia,  118. 

Anaesthesia,  158. 

Animal  psychology,  2,  24,  55. 

Animals,  instinct  of,  25;  intelli- 
gence of,  36;  mind  in,  i,  24; 
play  of,  43. 

Ants,   instinct  of,  36. 

Aphasia,  114,  132,  190;  auditory, 
116,  132;  motor,  114,  132;  sen- 
sory, 115;  visual,  116,  132. 

Apperception,  12,  15,  17,  42,  108, 
121. 

Assimilation,    14,   41,   133. 

Association  of  ideas,  n,  13,  15, 
18,  39,  42,  76. 

Attention,    76,    121,    182,    191. 

Auto-suggestion,    151,   163. 

B. 

Bashfulness,  87  note. 

Bees,   instinct  of,  26. 

Birds,   instinct   of,   26. 

Body,  relation  of  mind  to,  101. 

Brain,  102. 

C. 

Cat,  instinct  of,  25. 

Catalepsy,  158. 

Cerebellum,  107. 

Chance,  vii. 

Child,    development    of   the,    28, 

37,  50,  76,   167. 

Child  psychology,  2,  25,  37.  51. 
Children,  play   games  of,  95. 
Christian  Science,  120. 

17 


"  Chumming,"  93. 

Cold  sensations,    124. 

Colour  blindness,  63. 

Colour  sensations,  62,  64. 

Comparative   psychology,   2,   24. 

Concept,  the,  42. 

Conduct,   9,   16.     See  Action. 

Contrariness  in  children,  86,  157. 

Contrary  suggestion,  157. 

Contrast,  law  of  visual,  136. 

Control  suggestion,  156. 

Corpora  striata,  107. 

Cortex  of  brain,  105,  108. 

Criminals,  205. 

Cures,  mental,  120. 

D. 

Darwin,  Charles,  229. 
Degeneracy,  104,  122,  226. 
Dextrality,  53,  69. 
Diseases  of  mind,  4,   101,  114. 
Distance,  perception  of,  64,  66. 
Dog,  instinct  of,  26,  39. 
Doubting  insanity,  119. 
Dual  personality,  118. 

E. 

Eccentricity,  176. 

Educational  psychology,  5,   166. 

Ejectiye  self,  90. 

Electric  stimulus,   103. 

Emotional   expressions,   22. 

Environment,  24. 

Equivalents,   kinaesthetic,   20,  28, 

38,  "2. 

Ethical   sense,   the,  90. 
Evolution,  theory  of,  vi,  24,  31, 

33,  54,  202,  229. 
Exaltation,   sense,    153. 

237 


238 


STORY  OF   THE    MIND. 


Exaltation    of    the    faculties    in 

hypnosis,  160. 
Excitement,  21. 
Experimental  psychology,  4,  101, 

122. 

Experimenting  with   children,   6, 

57.6i. 

Expressions    of    emotions,    22. 
Extirpation  method,   102. 

F. 

Feeling,  10,  21. 
Fluid  attention,   182. 

G. 

Galvanometer  experiment,  103. 
Games,    of   animals,   43;    01    chil- 
dren,  95;   value   of,   50. 
Generalization,  41,  181. 
Genetic   psychology,   2. 
Genius,  200,  211. 
Geometry,  study  of,  187,  188. 
Grammar,  study  of,  187,   188,   197. 
Guessing,  189,  198. 

H. 

Habit,  77,  80,  168,  192. 

Hallucination,  12. 

Hearing,  10. 

Heat    and    cold    sensations,    10, 

124. 
Heredity,  32,  58,  75,  95,   169,   177, 

200,  204,  218. 
Heredity,  so.cial,  200. 
Hypnotic  cures,  164. 
Hypnotism,   17,   121,   148,   158. 

I. 

Idiocy,  205. 

Illusion,   12;   optical.   132. 

Imagination,  12,  17,  22,  214. 

Imitation,  28,  38,  47,  53,  78,  So, 
88,  91,  211 ;  persistent,  30. 

Indjvidual   psychology,   5. 

Inhibitory   suggestion,    155,    170. 

Insanity,  205. 

Inspiration,  227. 

Instinct,  17,  25;  lapsed  intelli- 
gence theory,  31;  reflex 
theory,  30,  34;  theory  of,.  26. 

Intelligence,  36,  214;  animal,  36. 

Intoxication,    102,   104. 

Introspection,  3,  8. 

Invention,  211. 


J. 
Judgment,   133,  208,  220. 

K. 

Kinaesthetic    equivalents,    20,    28, 

38,  112. 

Kindergarten,   value   of,    175. 
Knowledge,   9,    13,   22. 


Laboratories,   psychological,    i?2. 
Language,    study   of,    18^,    197. 
Lapsed     intelligence     theory     of 

instinct,   31. 
Left-handedness,  53,  69. 
Levels,   of   brain   functions,    105. 
Life,  sensory  and  motor  periods 

of,  167. 
Localization   of   brain   functions, 

102,  104. 

M. 

"  Make-believe,"       in       animals 

and  children,  45. 

Mathematics,   study  of,   187,   197. 
Medulla,  105. 
Memory,    n,    12,    18,    22,   76,    138, 

159;  defects  of,  118. 
Mental  pathology,  4,  101. 
Mind  cure,  120. 
Mind,  of  animals,  i,  24:  relation 

of  body  to,  101. 

Monkeys,   instinct  of,  26,   39. 
Motives,  18. 

Motor  centres  of  brain,  in. 
Motor  period,  167. 
Motor  suggestion,  17,  67,  80. 
Muscle  sensations,  10. 
Musical  expression,  76. 

N. 

Natural  selection,  202. 
O. 

Optic  thalami,  107. 

Optical  illusion,  132. 

Organic    selection,    principle    of, 

34,. 50. 
Organic  sensations,  10. 

P. 

Pain,  21,  156. 

Pain-movement-pleasure,  83. 
Pathology,  mental,  4,  101. 


INDEX. 


239 


Pedagogical  psychology,  5. 
Perception,  12,  17,  22. 
Personality,  dual,  118. 
Personality  suggestion,  80. 
Phrenology,     unreliableness     of, 

117. 
Physiological  psychology,  4,   101, 

122. 
Play  of  animals,  43;  of  children, 

95- 

Pleasure,  21,  156. 

Post-hypnotic  suggestion,  160. 

Projection  fibres,  109. 

Psychology,  i,  55;  abnormal,  4; 
animal,  2,  24;  child,  2,  25,  37, 
51;  comparative,  2,  24;.  edu- 
cational, 5,  166;  experimental, 
4,  101,  122;  genetic,  2;  indi- 
vidual, 5;  introspeciye,  3,  8; 
pedagogical,  5;  physiological, 
4,  101,  122;  race,  6;  social,  6, 
200;  variational,  5. 

Punishment,  effect  of,  172. 

R. 

Race  psychology,  6. 

Rapport,  161. 

Reaction-time   experiments,   126. 

Reason  in  animals,  31. 

Reasoning,  n,  13,  17. 

Recept,  the,  41. 

Reception,  10. 

Re-evolution,  122. 

Reflex  actions,  57,  105,  53. 

Reflex  theory  of  instinct,  30,  3.1. 

Right-handedness,  53,  69. 

Rolandic  region,  112. 

S. 

Schools,  public,  advantages  of, 
95;  dangers  of,  61. 

Selection,  natural,  31,  202;  or- 
ganic, 34,  50. 

Self-consciousness,  43,   54,  80,  86. 

Self-suggestion,  151. 


Sensation,  10,  21,  22,  107,  109, 
146,  179. 

Senses,  the,  10,  101,  107,  109. 

Sense  exaltation,  153. 

Sensory  period,  167. 

Sentiment,  23. 

Sexes,  difference  in  mental  dis- 
position, 176. 

Sight,   10;  experiments  on,  132. 

Smell, 10. 

Social  heredity,  200;  social  psy- 
chology, 6,  200. 

Social  sense,  the,  90. 

Somnambulism,  153,  159. 

Speech,  75,  79;  defects  of,  114. 

Speech  zone,  56,  109,  112. 

Spinal  cord,  105. 

Spiritual  healing,  120. 

Statistical  method  of  investiga- 
tion, 143. 

Stimulation,  artificial,  103. 

Subconscious  suggestion,  149. 

Suggestion,  17,  21,  67,  80,  120, 
145,  148,  168,  172. 

Suggestion,  motor,  80. 

T. 

Taste,  10. 

Temperature  sense,  10,  124. 

Thought,  9,  n,  12,  21,  22. 

Thought-transference,  120. 

Touch,  10. 

Toxic  method,  104. 

Tune  suggestions,  149. 

V. 

Variation,  202;  theory  of,  30,  218. 
Variational  psychology,  5. 
Vision,  133. 
Visual  type  of  mind,  128,   193. 


Will,  19,  78;  defects  of,  119. 
Writing,  14,  79. 


(6) 


THE    END. 


IOMED  LIB 


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